“Honey, there’s a man at the door.”
“It’s three in the morning, Judith. What in hell does he want?”
“He didn’t say. But he was very insistent.”
“What’s his name?”
“Swattheem, I think he said. Sounds Indian.”
“Well, as long as it’s not the police, I won’t have to hide all the stolen art and heroin. Better go see what he wants.”