The Move
Mr. Howell’s reaction to my offer wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for: “Are you trying to get me killed?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
He paced back and forth between the sofa and the row of armchairs. “You can’t do this. It’s a bad move.” He threw his hands in the air. “We have procedures!”
“Mr. Howell, please. Sit down. I don’t understand you.”
He glared at me, growled, then threw himself into the sofa. “I’m an Associate. I’m not a made man. I’m not even a Spadros! You can’t just put me over these men: they won’t accept it.”
“Can’t we make them accept it? I am your Queen now, after all.”
He scoffed. “It takes years for an Associate to be a made man, and even then, to rise further takes many more. These men have earned a place of trust; I haven’t!”
“I understand that, sir.” The gr
