“Damn it,” Malone cut in. “Tom, just tell me what you want. In straightforward, simple language. It just took me ten minutes to pry a few idiotic facts out of a highway patrolman. Don’t make me go through it all over again with you.” “Okay, okay,” Boyd said. “Keep your pants on. But here’s the dope: I just flew in from New York, and I brought all the files on the case— the stuff you left in your office in New York, remember?” “Right,” Malone said. “Thanks.” “And I think we may be able to get the Big Cheese,” Boyd went on. “Manelli?” Malone said. “None other than the famous Cesare Antonio,” Boyd said. “It seems two of his most valued lieutenants were found in a garage in Queens, practically weighted down with machine-gun bullets.” Malone thought of Manelli, complaining sadly about the high overhead of murder. “And where does that get us?” he said. “Well,” Boyd said, “whoever did the job forgot to search the bodies.” “Oh-oh,” Malone said. “Very much oh-oh,” Boyd said. “They’re loaded down, not only with lead, but with paper. There are documents linking Manelli right up to the International Truckers’ Union—a direct tie-in with Mike Sand. And Sand now says he’s tied in with the Great Lakes Transport Union in Chicago.” “This sounds like a big one,” Malone said. “You have no idea,” Boyd said. “And in the middle of all this, Burris called.” “Burris?” Malone said. “That’s right,” Boyd said. “He wants me to go on down to Florida and take over the investigation of the Flarion assassination. So it looks as if I’m going to miss most of the fun.” “Too bad,” Malone said. “But maybe not all,” Boyd said. “It may tie in with the case we’re working on. At least, that’s what Burris thinks.” “Yes,” Malone said. “I can see why he thinks so. Did he have any message for me, by the way?” “Not exactly,” Boyd said. Malone blinked. “Not exactly?” he said. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Well,” Boyd said, “he says he does have something to tell you, but it’ll wait until he sees you. Then, he says, he’ll tell you personally.” “Great,” Malone said. “Maybe it’s a surprise,” Boyd said. “Maybe you’re fired.” “I wouldn’t have the luck,” Malone said. “But if I get any leads on the Flarion job, I’ll let you know right away.” “Sure,” Boyd said. “Thanks. And—by the way, what are you doing now?” “Me?” Malone said. “I’m driving.” “Yes, I know,” Boyd said patiently. “To where, and why? Or is this another secret? Sometimes I think nobody loves me any more.” “Oh, don’t be silly,” Malone said. “The entire city of Miami Beach is awaiting your arrival with bated breath.” “But what are you doing?” Boyd said. Malone chose his words carefully. “I’m just checking a lead,” he said at last. “I don’t know if it’s going to pan out or not, but I thought I’d drive down to Richmond and check on a name I’ve got. I’ll call you about it in the morning, Tom, and let you know what the result is.” “Oh,” Boyd said. “Okay. Sure. So long, Ken.”