"Fuck, yes! They're the ones who tied us up last night and-"
"That was a white guy."
"Did you see him!"
"No, but-"
"Then what the fuck do you know?"
"It was a white guy's voice."
"It was them, I'm telling you! They must've taken our keys and come here and fucked us up. Who knows what else they've done! They're gonna pay for this. Oh, are they gonna fucking pay!"
This wasn't going the way Jack wanted. The whole idea of coming here had been to distract them from the Kentons.
"All right," Foster said. "Let's just say it was them. After what happened, do you really want to risk going back to Astoria? Our car's impounded, all our credit cards are gone, not to mention the humiliation of having to walk around Lower Manhattan dressed in cardboard."
"They're gonna pay! Maybe not this week, and maybe not next, but first chance we get, we're gonna fuck those niggers over good!"
Conversation between the two Fosters stopped, and Jack assumed that the Mrs. had stomped off while Carl reassembled the light switch.
Jack and the four women hung out for another ten minutes or so, then Foster reappeared to welcome them back into the reading room.
Jack hung back.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Butler?"
"Yeah. I think I've seen enough."
"I hope there's no misunderstanding here. You see-"
Foster thought Jack was bailing out. He cut him off to put him straight.
"I think that was real gutsy of her to pull that stunt. That shows me she's got real confidence in her powers. I'm totally impressed."
Foster switched gears like a Formula One driver. "Well, I took you from the start as a man of intelligence and discrimination."
"So when's the soonest I can book my own private session with the lady? You told me you had half an hour open Tuesday afternoon. Nothing at all tomorrow?"
Foster pulled the appointment book from the desk drawer and thumbed through the pages. He frowned.
"I'm afraid not. Tuesday is the soonest. Is three o'clock good for you?"
This lady was doing gold-rush business.
"I guess it'll hafta be. I'd really prefer an hour but, maybe a half-hour session for starters is best. You know, to see if she can make the right contact."
"Oh, she can, I assure you."
"Okay, see you then."
Jack let himself out and made for the elevator. Once inside and headed down, he slammed a hand against the wall of the car. Damn. He'd read this one all wrong. He saw what his mistake had been: He'd tried to strike at the Fosters indirectly, through their clientele. Wrong angle. He knew now he'd have to take the battle directly to them.
He had a half-formed plan of how to do that. He'd need the Kenton brothers' help to fill in the rest. He just hoped Madame Pomerol wouldn't be able to wriggle free next time.