Deck checked his watch; it was a quarter 'till six. He had just enough time to throw on his jacket and hat, haul ass down three flights of stairs, tear around the corner to the J-Mart and pick up a bottle of the Brown before they closed.

Reclining at his desk ten minutes later, suckling thoughtfully on a fresh glass of Life-be-Gone, Deck began to formulate his course of action. Mr. Li was quite wrong in his previous assumption; this was exactly Deck's kind of game. A situation such as this required subtlety and he couldn't screw over his client. Word travels quick in the biz and a few grand now isn't worth losing your rep over, or even, in some cases, losing your kneecaps while some sweaty, dago fuck named Guido is delicately re-arranging your anatomy with a golf club. Beside that, it was apparent that someone wanted this book badly or else Li would have just tossed it in a safe deposit box. Deck smelled blood somewhere in all of this but a little danger never stopped him from paying the rent. No, Deckard Coffield could most certainly not screw over his client. . . but Seedy Petey Wilson sure could.

Deckard got on the horn. Petey Wilson could and would screw over anyone for the right price. People, upon hearing the name of Seedy Petey, would invariably quote the cliche and age-old axiom that Pete would "fuck over his own mother for a buck," but they were wrong. He would require at least 30% of the cut before he went anywhere near a family member, dangerous criminal, law enforcement agent or public figures.

"Hello?" inquired an ironically soothing and friendly voice from the other end of the line.

"Petey? Deck."

"Carrie, my man; good to hear from you. How's bein' a dick treatin' ya?"

"It's 'Deck,' you little fuck. I'm amazed no one's fucking killed you yet."

Petey laughed, "No, my friend; it was 'Deck' when you didn't owe me two-hundred bucks. A couple C-notes will certainly make me forget that you have a bitch name."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Deck growled. "I hear you are becoming a regular fuckin' expert on the subject of magnets and their practical house-hold-fucking-uses . . . Ring any bells Petey?"

"Deckard." Petey gasped, "How could you imply such things? You know I run a clean game!"

Deck snorted, "That's a fuckin' laugh." He paused to light a Lucky from the smoldering end of the one in his mouth. "Anyways, we can settle that shit later." Deck exhaled a blue plume of smoke into the receiver. "Something important came up and I need you to do something for me."

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