Seven“Who in the hell would want Bully dead?” Hector de Vile took an angry pull on his cigar and glared at Cyrus through a cloud of gray-blue smoke.
His old friend stared straight back, his face blank, crow’s feet prominent at the corners of his eyes. He gave a slow shrug.
“I don’t know, Hector. He was unlucky, I guess. The wrong place at the wrong time. Met up with some thugs who were after easy pickings.”
He took an answering suck on a Cuban.
“Although why they would pick on a big man like Bully is hard to fathom. I suppose it could have been any one of us. They probably heard about the dinner and thought they’d try their luck when the guests were leaving.”
Hector raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“You think so? And they picked out one of the biggest brutes there?” He let the question ha
