In his bedroom, Ohara struggles out of his robe and hurls it to the floor. He 
feels like he’s suffocating. His hands are shaking and his fragging eyelid won’t
stop twitching. All because of that skell Kirkland, all the innuendoes and lies 
and veiled threats. Ohara isn’t fooled. If that skell Kirkland had anything on
him, he’d be arresting him, not harassing him. If Kirkland keeps it up, he’s
going to get more trouble than he knows how to handle. Ohara knows how to 
arrange for that. If not legally, then illegally. If not by persuasion, then by 
killing. It wouldn’t cost much to buy the assassination of some overweight and
not terribly bright police lieutenant. And Ohara’s got more than enough change to do it. More than enough.