One thing is certain: if Figg is crippled, he’s no less dangerous. His arm isn’t completely paralyzed, he just has trouble moving it. And if he has already celebrated his birthday more than sixty times, he’s of staggering physical strength.
“You were ready to kill them?”
“The Cahills? Of course. In any case, they’ll be dead in less than an hour.”
I put down my whiskey and turn to him two intrigued and doubtful eyes.
“Don’t you believe me, Larson?” he resumes. “A quarter of an hour ago, I got up to go piss. Downstairs, next to the toilets, there’s a telephone booth. I warned Enoch.”
“And what will Enoch do?”
“To you, it’s Mr Cay. Respect, kid, respect...”
“Mr Cay will do what?”
“He’ll get in touch with one of his friends and a team will be sent to ad patres these arseholes.”
“Ad pa
