“No fuckin’ way. Fifteen hundred was a deal I was giving you until I found out you were a couple of fuckin’ thiefs.”
Thieves, I said, but only mentally. To Metalhead, I offered reason. “We have the monkey right now. And we paid you nothing. I could just hang up.” Hang up? Push the off button?
Metalhead’s barrage of curses overwhelmed my pedantic interest in the effects of changing technologies on language. He certainly wasn’t the brightest pixel on the screen. But he did manage to get his point across through all the expletives. Basically, no one stole from him and got away with it. If the cops didn’t get us, he had friends who’d be happy to find us, and we’d better hope the cops found us first, because @?**!x!zz#@ and Z!@**!?xx, oh, and also, !!**&$!xxq@!Z.
By now, I thought the phone
