"What is it, Paulie?"

The gunner frowned.

"You got another call, line two. The Man."

Spinoza felt the old familiar tightening in his stomach but he forced a practiced smile and thanked his Number Two, waiting until Paulie retreated before he reached for the phone.

For an instant all he heard was the bottomless long-distance hum of the line, then the deep familiar voice filled up his ear.

"This line secure?" the caller asked him.

"Yes, sir. Checked out this morning." Damn the squeak in his voice!

"I've been waiting for some word," The Man informed him, recrimination in his tone.

"I was about to call you," Spinoza lied. "I just got off the phone with Johnny Cats."

A hesitation on the line.

"And how's he bearing up?"

"He'd like to see some action on this thing. They all would."

There was an expectant silence on the other end. Spinoza felt a sudden need to fill the yawning chasm.

"I've arranged a meet for later in the morning here at my place. Just to keep things cool."

"That's good," the caller said, and still his tone had reservations. "It's important that you keep the lid on, Frank. A deal is in the works, but any premature reactions on your end could dump it in the toilet."

"I'm on top of it," Spinoza told him earnestly.

"I hope so, Frank. I'm counting on you. Everybody's counting on you."

The words had their desired effect. Spinoza felt the burden settling down across his shoulders like a physical weight. Unconsciously, it made him squirm.

"Don't worry, sir. I've got a handle on this end, as long as Kuwahara pulls his horns in for the next few days."