a sincere warmth that bordered on oily. Green scales and
yellow eyes notwithstanding, he reminded me ofGrimble,
the Chancellor of the Exchequer I had feuded with back at
Possiltum. I wondered briefly if this was common with
professional money guardians, everywhere . . . maybe it
was something in a ledger paper. If so, it boded ill for my
dealing today . . . Grimble and I never really got along.
“Come in, come in,” the individual purred. “Please,
have a seat Mister . . . ?”
146 Robert Asprin
“Skeeve,” I said, sinking into the indicated chair. “And
it’s just ‘Skeeve,’ not Mr. Skeeve.”
I had never been wild about the formality of “Mister”
title, and after having it hissed at me by the police the night
before, I was developing a positive aversion to it.
“Of course, of course,” he nodded, reseating himself.
“My name is Malcolm.”
Perhaps it was his similarity to Grimble, but I was finding
his habit of repeating himself to be a growing annoyance.
I reminded myself that I was trying to court his favor and
made an effort to shake the feeling off.
“… And how can we be of service to you today?”
“Well, Malcolm, I’m a businessman visiting here on
Perv,” I said, aware as I spoke that I was unconciously
falling into a formal speech pattern. “My expenses have
been running a bit higher than I anticipated, and frankly my
ready cash supply is lower than I find comfortable. Someone
suggested that I might open a line of credit with your bank,
so I stopped in to see if there was any possibility we might
work something out.”