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"Hugo?"
"Yeah, Lefty?"
"Is there an ending to this story?"
"That all depends on your definition of ending, I suppose."
"It's just that I have a photo shoot in LA next week and we're stuck here in Cuba waiting for the fat guy with a beard to start writing again."
"Just be happy that you weren't involved with his latest project."
"I don't like blood that much."
"Anyway, you actually read the script, didn't you? What are we supposed to be doing right now?"
"Well, we were supposed to be infiltrating leTerrible's People's Communist Union Front and Bicycle Repair, but that got cut. I think we're supposed to warn Vivaldi about the bombs under everyone's seats."
"That mutt? Last time I worked with him the darning bill ate up my residuals!"
"I thought that was why you had the safety pin."
"That's a fashion statement." Hugo sighed. "Let's get this over with. You get to talk to him this time."
Two wool socks rolled across the floor of the Casino. No one noticed them until they bumped into the tail of a small grey dog who was craning his neck to see the cards of the man sitting next to Harv.
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