“You can’t be serious,” he said. “This? For a Djin? That doesn’t even cover the cost of the bottle!”
“Oh come, come, my good man,” I argued. “We’re both men of the world … or dimensions. We both know that’s clear profit.”
“It is? “he frowned.
“Of course,” I said, gesturing at the broken glass on the floor. “No one can tell how many bottles were just broken. I know you’ll just include this one on the list of lost-stock and collect in full from your insurance in addition to what I just gave you. In fact, you could probably add five or six to the total if you were really feeling greedy.”
“That’s true,” the Deveel murmured thoughtfully. “Hey, thanks! This might not turn out so bad after all.”
“Don’t mention it,” I shrugged, studying the small bottle in my hand. “Now that we’re in agreement on the price, though, could you look up the name of my Djin?”
“I don’t have to. That one’s new enough that I can remember. It’s name is Kalvin.”
“Kalvin?”
“Hey, don’t laugh. It’s the latest thing in Djins.”
Chapter Seventeen:
“The best laid plans often go fowl.”
– WILE E. COYOTE
“WELL, except for that, how are things going?”
“Except for that?” Shai-ster echoed incredulously. “Except for that? Except for that things are going rotten. This whole project is a disaster.”
“Gee, that’s tough,” I said, with studied tones of sympathy.
I had gotten to be almost a permanent fixture here at Fat’s Spaghetti Palace. Every night I dropped by to check the troops’ progress . . . theirs and mine.
It was nice to be able to track the effectiveness of your activities by listening to the enemy gripe about them. It was even nicer to be able to plan your next move by listening to counter-attacks in the discussion stage.