O'Boyle was still in the office when the call came. Mitchell recognized the voice. Nodding toward the extension phone on the table by the couch he said, "Yeah, I know who it is." O'Boyle went over and very carefully picked up the phone.

"Have you thought it over?" the voice asked.

"I'm still thinking," Mitchell said. "A hundred and five thousand, that's a lot to think about, isn't it?"

"Not for you, sport. A little side money."

"I guess I'm tight with it then. I work hard for what I make. I say to myself, why give it to some asshole who comes along trying to con you?"

There was a silence and O'Boyle made a face, closing his eyes. Finally the voice said, "This is no con. You don't come across you're going to find yourself up to your chin in shit, buddy, and I mean it."

"But it's my decision," Mitchell said. "If I want to be in up to my chin or not is up to me, right?" Again there was a silence.

"You can have it any way you want," the voice said.

"All right, then give me a couple more days to think about it." Mitchell looked over at his lawyer. "You've probably been working on this for a while. What's a couple more days? I mean you lay it on me all of a sudden, I have to have a little time to make up my mind."

"We'll give you till tomorrow. First payment, ten grand, to show your good faith."

"Where do I send it?"

"I'll call you tomorrow, let you know."

"What time tomorrow?"

But the voice was no longer there.

Mitchell hung up. "Now what?"

"You're sure," O'Boyle asked, "you've never heard his voice before?"

"Not before last night."

"Could he be somebody who used to work here?"

"I don't know, I guess so. The guy knows more about me than my accountant. So what do we do?"

"Eventually," O'Boyle said, "we'll probably have to go to the police."

"You're kidding."

"You want to give them a hundred thousand dollars?"