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Jack

Terin

Payton

Discovery

Vengeance

Terror

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solar cell
My man Jacko—
cash in
he's going to
unless...
on that
little cell.

Payton suddenly stopped speaking. “Oh, wait a minute.” Another pause. “Wai-wai-wait a minute.” Payton looked straight at Jack.

Jack froze. “What?”

Payton grinned. “I know what this is about.”

“What? What’s what about?” Jack’s mouth hung open.

“You want the Porsche, that’s what this is about. You want to be the one on the cover of Time magazine, thaaaaaat’s what this is about.” Payton pitched his voice a lot higher. “Ooooh, Mr. Roseman, you’re so smart hee hee hee hee oooooh what a nice Porsche oooooh it’s so sexy! ooooh, maybe we could talk about your soh- soh-ler cell over a drink later hee hee hee.” Payton batted his eyelashes.

“No it isn’t. That’s not what this is about.”

“Oh, f-you, yes it is. That solar cell is your winning lottery ticket, you sneaky selfish bastard, and you know it. You’re not afraid they’ll sit on it; you’re afraid that you won’t be able to cash in on it. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Listen, man, I’m with you. I don’t blame ya one bit. Christ, man, do you know what it means, that little rectangle in your kitchen?”


—page 36

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