“I know all about his independence,” the elder Phule growled darkly. “I guess I knew this was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Excuse my asking, Mr. Phule,” the butler said, seizing the pause in the conversation, “but is it still the policy of Phule-Proof Munitions and yourself that no extortion payments are to be made under any circumstances, regardless of who or what is being threatened?”
“That’s right,” the voice confirmed. “Once you start paying, there’s no end to it. We pay taxes to the government for protection, and that should be the end of it. If more people were willing to stand up to criminals and terrorists-“
“Yes, I’m familiar with the argument,” Beeker interrupted. “Tell me, Mr. Phule, would it be too much of a compromise of your principles to withhold your refusal for a while-say, for forty-eight hours?”
“No. They said they’d call back and broke the connection before I could say much of anything. If they call back, I can try to stall them, but-“
“Fine,” the butler said, cutting the elder Phule short again. “Then if you’ll be so good as to clear the line, sir, I’ll see if anything can be done to bring the situation to a satisfactory conclusion from this end.”
“Right … and Beeker?”
“Yes, Mr. Phule?”
The voice on the other end of the line was suddenly very weary, as if anger had been the only thing giving it strength and now that that emotion had been vented there was nothing left.
“Be careful not to … I mean … I know he and I have had our differences, but he’s still my son, and …”