Mr. Nine asked. “I might have a lead,” Monroe said into the phone as he reclined in what had become his favorite chair, with the muted television glowing across from him. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m willing to look into any little clue that might lead me to whatever sliver of Garrett Khan’s business has trickled into Boston; I might as well start at home.” “What do you need from me?” Mr. Nine asked. “Permission to keep going, and information,” Monroe answered. “Can you tell me anything about a construction magnate named Cyril Benson? He’s based here in Boston, does work for the local government, and might be running a high-priced escort-prostitution ring in addition to his legitimate projects?” “It sounds like you know quite a lot already.” “I suppose so, sir, but I’d like a way to involve myself in Benson’s affairs, do a bit of snooping if I may.” “I’ll see what I can do,” Mr. Nine said, and he promptly hung up. Monroe sighed and turned the TV’s sound back on.
