He mutters something in Gaelic. “As I was saying. We’re all working undercover in some capacity, masquerading as mob kings, corrupt politicians, shady business tycoons, you name it.”
“Uh-huh. And the point of all this masquerading?”
“Saving the world.”
Unbelievably, he says that with no trace of self-consciousness or awareness of how ridiculous he sounds. His hubris is staggering.
I decide to play along with his insanity. “What do you call yourselves? The Avengers?”
“The Thirteen.”
I snort. “Sounds like a boy band.”
“f**k you.”
“Let me guess—you came up with that winner?”
He glares at me, and now I find myself having fun.
“And I suppose you’re Number One, right?”
“You know, I liked you better when you were only making a Broadway production out of pouring yourself a bloody coffee
