Richelieu hissed, “Son of a bitch.” Then, “Not you, Lindsey. Just try not to rile them. And see if you can find that girl. She’s a million dollar girl, Lindsey. Keep that in mind. You find her, you’re a hero around here. You fail and—I don’t like failure. Need I say more?”
Lindsey said no more. He knew if he held his silence Richelieu would tell him something else. That was the way Desmond Richelieu worked. At first Lindsey had perceived the grand high panjandrum of SPUDS as an almost supernatural being, a demigod to be placated and feared. After a couple of years in SPUDS and a series of increasingly fruitful encounters with Richelieu, Lindsey had learned how to get what he wanted from the man. Miraculous to say, he was even starting to like him.
“One other thing, Lindsey—have you seen
