“Sounds a decent number.”

“It’s an indecent number,” she said, sharpish. “And besides, I would never pay it up front. What’s to stop you from taking the money and walking away? How do I make sure you do your job?”

“That’s always the problem with contracts for illegal acts,” I said patiently, quite pleased that I’d spoken rather like an academic conversing with colleagues at a seminar. “Their enforcement.”

“If you manage to do this…this thing…in a timely fashion, I…Maddie and I…are certainly going to pay you. Not to pay a hitman, if you don’t mind the expression, would be the height of foolishness. It’s obvious what your response would be.”

“Response is not a solution.” So logical. “Dead people don’t pay.” So dry. “Also, killing people is a dangerous, messy business. Especially rich, white people. And there’d be no point to it, unless it was my regular business, then, maybe, pour encourager les autres.” I continued, sounding nothing but reasonable, and offered the problem up to her. “Do you have a solution? That ensures that whomever goes last, the person who acts or the person who pays, comes through.”

“We’re going to have to trust each other,” she said. She gave it a really good reading. It was right up there with Mary Astor telling lies to Humphrey Bogart in the Maltese Falcon. If they did a remake I’d call the casting director on her behalf.

“You want me to do this? You want me to kill Mick McMunchun for Maddie and you?”

“Yes. Yes, it has to be done.”

“Then don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous,” I said, all nasty and mean, but low so no one in the hall or the next rooms could hear. “I don’t do this without insurance.”

“What, what insurance?”

“Stand up,” I said, taking her by the hand and pulling her up.

“Get your hands off me.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “You’re going to take off all your clothes.”

“The hell I will.”

“This is not about sex. This is about recordings. Yeah, we have our phones on the table. But I have another one in my back pocket. You could have another stashed somewhere. Or a wire. A microphone. If you want to make this happen, you’ll get naked.

“There’s a robe laid out on the bed there—nice, thick terry cloth thing—you can put it on to preserve your modesty, since you seem to care. Then you will read from this script, and I will record us.

“We’ll have a conversation. You will ask me to kill McMunchun. You will offer money. I will turn you down. I’ll be emphatic and say that’s crazy, don’t do it.