other tungsten and dotted with black diamonds. In his hand was a crystal tumbler more than half full with the familiar brown of rye whiskey.

"Quoi de neuf, Bill."

"We need to talk, Master Gueye."

"Are we not speaking?"

Macek squinted. "Don't be smarmy my boy, I bring you a gift."

Macek's "gifts" were never dull affairs. It was the only thing the old man did right. "Do tell."

The old man leaned in closely, his demeanor that of a gossip. "Buy heavy in LL Cartier construction, ticker: 'LLCC.' Buy heavily, my good man, as in metric tonnage heavy."

"Heavy like the scent of whiskey and whore's lips emanating from you?"

Macek guffawed. "Precisely!"

"I'll mess...

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