“Forget it,” Klay said. Klay caught a flash of disappointment in Tenchant’s eyes, and it occurred to him how little he knew his researcher. They rarely interacted socially, not even for lunch. Tenchant ate with the copy editors and fact checkers. Klay ate at this desk. He didn’t know about Tenchant’s martial arts. Today was the first time he’d been in his home. It had taken years before he and Snaps had found their groove in the field, and Snaps had been an experienced field photographer. Tenchant was a computer nerd.

“Excuse me?” Klay said to the flight attendant. “Another round for us? Bourbon for me. A phone call,” he said, turning back to Tenchant. “Snaps had taken those incredible pics. Remember?”

“The albino with her hand cut off.”

“That one. The dug-up graves. The muti rituals. I called to give Porfle an update, just the usual, I’m about to hang up when this buffalo walks by. Huge animal, balls swinging around his knees. I say, ‘Holy shit, those are some big fucking balls.’ I wasn’t talking to Porfle. I was talking to myself.

“‘Explain,’ Porfle says. Explain what? Just some bull the family keeps. Balls the size of grapefruit blowing in the wind. Right?”

“Right,” Tenchant said.

“So, I’m hanging up and Porfle says, ‘Don’t forget to give me the bull balls.’

“I ask what does he mean. He says, ‘The Sufferin’ needs to grow some of its own.’ Says he wants the ‘balls blowing in the wind,’ just like I said it. Because it’s Porfle, I ask him directly, ‘You want the whole balls as big as grapefruits . . . in the story?’ He starts shouting he’s the goddamned editor, leave it to Tweedledee to take it out. ‘We’ll test their mettle,’ he’s yelling. You know how he is.”

Tenchant sipped his drink. “Uh-huh.”

“So, that’s what I did. I wrote it up with balls as big as grapefruit blowing in the wind. It was completely irrelevant to the story. When he got my first draft, he said it’s about time the bloody Sovereign wrote with brio.” Klay shook his head.

“He hates you,” Tenchant said.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Tenchant shrugged.

“Hates?” Klay asked. “Really?”

“What did you think?”

“I don’t know. I figured he was a little hostile. He sits at a desk and I run around the world. I’m no fan of his, but he hates me?”

“Says you’re an arrogant prick.”

“Does he?” Klay said, narrowing his eyes. “Okay. Well, then, I’m glad we had this little chat.”

“Aw, come on. Tell me the rest. I’m the one that ends up paying for this, you know.”