“A few years back, right after you left Clive, I was doing the renovations on his city penthouse. My Irish brogue was thicker then. He took note of it and started asking me questions all about me self, where I came from, what kind of man I was. Things I liked. A queer guy, Clive Darcy – and I mean the normal definition of ‘queer’. I liked him, I thought. We shot the breeze about most everything when he was in a mood to talk. I’d work, he’d watch – or go about his business – simple as that.
“After a while, he asked me if I’d do a few favors for him, sort of like the assignments you had delivering sensitive information to important persons. I wasn’t so sure about that, so I questioned him. I didn’t want to do anything illegal to mess up my immigration status. He assured me there’d be no pr
