What’s this ”
“A needle.”
“What should I do with it ” He’d walked right into it. Too easy.
“Please use it to pop your head. It’s obscuring my view of the room.

Give me an opportunity to fail," Saiman said. "I promise my corpse won't interrupt your 'I told you so' speech.

So. You refuse my money, you serve me thirty-year-old Highland Park scotch, and we've been in the same room for approximately five minutes, yet none of my bones are broken. This leads me to believe that your back is against the wall and you desperately need me for something. I'm dying to know what that is.

Saiman reached into the trunk and pulled out a pink tulle tutu.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It won’t fit.”
“Elastic waistband,” Saiman said. “It will fit.” Curran’s grin was pure evil.
“Don’t you dare,” I told him.
“It’s too bad the magic is up,” he said. “I’d take pictures.”
“Shut up.”
“Have no fear, Alpha,” Ascanio said. “We’ll tell no one.”
Kill me, somebody.
Saiman held out the tulle skirt to me.
“Maybe it will work without it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If I put this on, it will be ridiculous.”
Saiman waved the pink tutu in front of me. Fine. I snatched it out of his hands and pulled it on over my hips.
Ascanio collapsed into a moaning heap of laughter.
“Now what?”
“Move around onstage. It would help if you danced.”
Curran was dying. That was the only rational explanation for the noises coming from his direction.

Did he just rip out the engine?" I asked.
"Yes", Saiman said. "And now he is demolishing the Maserati with it."
Ten seconds later Curran hurled the twisted wreck of black and orange that used to be the Maserati into the wall.
The first melodic notes of an old song came from the computer. I glanced at Saiman.
He shrugged. "It begged for a soundtrack.

I would try being friends with her, but she's too busy being a smartass."

"Now you know how the rest of us feel," Jim said.