Chapter 21

So escalated the war of words between Sylvan and Smalley that Quinn had not so innocently started. It was true that he had gone over Smalley’s head to Sylvan, in part to annoy him. But he was also certain that Smalley would’ve said “No” to his request to stay overnight in Philly and given him the usual long song-and-dance about what a prima donna he was, how inflexible he was, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Smalley always finished these diatribes behind closed doors with this flourish:

“You mustn’t take this personally.”

No, of course not. Because it wasn’t meant personally, right? Quinn thought, disgusted.

As opposed to the time when some reporter for Sportin’ Lifemagazine had done a less than flattering profile on Smalley and the missus.

“You’re dead to me, you hear?” he shouted into the phone, presumably at the reporter. “Dead to me.”