He wolfed down his well-done steak and gulped three straight cups of coffee after it. The coffee made him flush, but he needed the jolt to get through a long afternoon of business. “Look, Colonel, we’ve still got two and a half months. We’ve got things to settle with the people in Raleigh.”

“Naturally.”

“Perhaps when the time is right.”

“A man could be persuaded.”

“Maybe a speech.” Rountree was slowly seeing the possibilities. They’d have to hold Waddell back for now, let things fall into place. “Let me think about it,” he said. When the time was exactly right, an old-fashioned barnburner might be just the thing.

Rountree consulted his railroad watch—not fancy, just accurate. “I have a client, if you’ll excuse me.”

At that moment, the waiter arrived with the check on a little silver tray. Rountree waited a beat for Waddell to reach for it. Waddell was a founding member of this club, and it was tradition for the senior man to host. But he patted his lips with his napkin and made no motion toward it. Rountree pasted the check to the table under his palm. With the other hand, he drew a fountain pen out of his pocket and unscrewed the cap one-handed—a trick he had picked up at Harvard—and scrawled his signature.

As the colored boy held the door for Rountree, Waddell was ordering another glass of wine. The day was turning out very well indeed.

The agent was waiting for Rountree at his office in the Allen Building. He never locked up during the lunch hour—that was the kind of city this was, the kind it would stay, if Rountree could help it. The agent got to his feet and smoothed his crumpled brown trousers. Rountree immediately went to his desk and unlocked it, not bothering to shake the man’s hand. This was business—you didn’t need to be friends for life.

“We’ve located the item you requested,” the agent said. He fingered his straw hat nervously and wouldn’t look Rountree in the eye. “Only thing is—”

“Yes?” Rountree was immediately alert. He’d half-expected this—these days, everybody tried to take advantage.

“—the price has gone up,” the agent said quickly.

Rountree retrieved the papers he was after from his top drawer, slammed it, then came around the desk and stood facing the agent. He didn’t have time for this foolishness. Rountree was taller and heavier, and the agent stepped back. “Your family business is in Kinston, am I right?”

“You know it is.” Rountree had known the man’s daddy for fifteen years.

“Kinston, that’s my backyard.” Rountree paused to let it sink in. “A contract is a contract. We will pay what we agreed.”

“But there’s another party who wants it.”

“I have your signature on a purchase order.” Rountree snapped the paper in his hand. “There’s a figure next to it.”