MacMillan said grimly, “that you'd better start at the beginning and this time, tell me everything.” We'd moved from the club proper to the manager's office where I'd set my abortive trap for Angelo. Len had been carted away, still yelling, but Marc had been handcuffed and brought with us. After recovering from the shock of being clouted so unexpectedly, his face was utterly unreadable. Now MacMillan took the chair behind Marc's desk, subtly supplanting his authority. He leaned his elbows on the desk top and linked his fingers together with great precision. “Well, Charlie, I think it's safe to say that you have our undivided attention.” He'd dropped the Miss Fox again, I noted wryly. I swallowed, easing myself into one of the leather chairs opposite. They'd given me a cold cloth to hold over my swelling eye, but I had the mother of all headaches lurking just behind it. Everything hurt. I flexed my right hand warily. The knuckles had stiffened until I couldn't clench them without feeling as though my skin was going to split. I glanced at the two men opposite.
