Now, you all know that I have nothing against making a profit, especially a sinfully large one . . . but that’s me. Skeeve is supposed to be the counterbalancing humanitarian. While I’ve been learning about people from him, I’m afraid he’s been absorbing the wrong lessons from me … or the right one too well.
Anyway, that’s why I didn’t chuck Quigley’s letter in the wastebasket when it got forwarded to us at the Bazaar. I figured it would give me some time alone with Skeeve to find out whether I was just being a Nervous Nelly, or if there was really something to worry about.. So far, I was leaning toward the latter.
Fortunately, Quigley hadn’t moved. As impatient as the Kid was being, I was afraid he’d back out of the whole deal if we had to take extra time just to run him down. Our knock was answered with a cautious eye appearing at the crack of the door as it opened slightly.
“Oh! I was hoping . . . that is, I was expecting . . . Can I help you gentlemen?”
We had seen the “old man” disguise before, so there was no doubt that it was really Quigley peering out at us.
“It’s us, Quigley,” the Kid said briskly before I could even say “Hi.” “Will you let us in, or should we just go home?”
“Skeeve? Oh, thank goodness. Certainly . . . come right in.”
I personally thought Skeeve was being a bit abrupt, and Quigley’s fawning over him wasn’t going to improve his manners at all.
“Sorry for the reception,” the magician said, herding us inside, “but I was afraid it might be, one of my creditors.”