He produced a battered business card from his vest pocket. The card was from a junk shop on the west end, but written on the back of it in spidery handwriting was a name: Nadia Marin. He rubbed his pointed nose, and smiled that sickly smile again. "You see, she is engaged to the son of one of our higher executives, who would like to know more about her than just her shoe size. The young man's father is . . ." My attention wandered away from these ridiculous lies with shocking ease. I couldn't imagine who would have sent this fool. Maybe that was the idea. In my opinion, he wasn’t long for the business. He probably wasn’t long for the world.