"An insect," I suggested.

"Far too mild."

"A worm, a rat." He was shaking his head, so I shifted gears and exited the animal kingdom. "A bounder?"

"That's closer, Bernie. By God, heis a bounder, but he's much worse than that."

"A cad."

"Better, but-"

I frowned, trying to conjure up a thesaurus spread open before me. A bounder, a cad…

"A rotter?"

"Oh, that comes close," he said. "We'll settle for that if we can't do any better. It's just archaic enough, isn't it? And it's better thanbounder orcad because it's clearly not a temporary condition. The corruption is permanent, the man is putrid to the core." He picked up his glass, breathed in the bouquet of aged cognac. "Rottercomes very close indeed to conveying just what a thoroughgoing shitheel goes by the name of Crandall Rountree Mapes."

I started to say something, but he held up a hand to stop me. "Bernie," he said, wide-eyed with wonder, "did you hear what I just said?"

"Shitheel."

"Precisely. That's perfect, the quintessential summation of the man. And where do you suppose the word came from? Not its derivation, that would seem clear enough, but how did it get into our conversation? No one saysshitheel anymore."

"You just did."

"I did, and I couldn't guess the last time I uttered it." He beamed. "I must have been inspired," he said, and rewarded himself with a small sip of the venerable brandy. I couldn't think of anything I'd done to merit a reward, but I had a sip from my own glass just the same. It filled the mouth like liquid gold, slid down the gullet like honey, and warmed every cell of the body even as it exalted the spirit.

I wasn't going to drive or operate machinery, so what the hell. I had another sip.