Walter shouted, rushing over to where Monroe was standing. “You promised I’d get to talk to her first, goddammit!” If Monroe was the least bit intimidated, the man didn’t show it. He calmly inserted a new magazine from his back pocket into the Uzi, then tossed the spent one. “I said I’d try. Big difference.” “Not to me, it’s not.” Walter clenched his teeth in frustration, but he didn’t forget where he was, or who (Lucy) was standing behind him right now. He said in a low voice that only Monroe could hear, “Don’t test me. You pull another stunt like that, and we’re done. You hear me? We’re done, and you can kiss all those millions good-bye and go back to working for table scraps from people like Gorman and Smith. Have I made myself clear?” Monroe stared back at him, and Walter wondered how many ways this man, this professional killer, could end his life right now. Sure, he still had Jack’s gun in his back waistband—hidden, so Lucy wouldn’t see it—but what were the chances he could get it out to defend himself if Monroe should decide, right here and now, that the money wasn’t worth the trouble of putting up with him?
