“He’s making me out to be the heavy,” Collin snorted to Norman. “And you’re a tight-assed prick.”
“Go jump in a lake, Doherty. You Irish Catholics should get off your lazes arses and get back to work.”
“Oh, stop spewing out all that workaholic bullshit dialogue he’s making you say. You don’t understand, he’s the reason we fight so much. We don’t really hate each other, do we?”
“I do as my author tells me to do, Doherty – and I’m supposed to be your mortal enemy. Get on board with the program, buddy.”
“You have your own mind, Balmoral. He made you an architect and he gave you a college education. He even gave you a hidden agenda.” Collin smirked at Norman. “I know about Cristina, you sly devil.”
“No one but the author is supposed to know about that. Does Agnes know? And how'd you ever find out?"
“ I’ve heard a rumor that Agnes finds out in Chapter 23. About me, well, a priest always knows who’s screwing whom.”
“Seems like he’s written you a bit too well. But there’s something I don’t get. What happened in the principal’s office with that Balfiglio boy?”
“Nothing. The author was just trying to stew up trouble because every chapter has to have some kind of conflict in it. But he couldn’t come out and say it because it’s the ‘30s, after all, and no one said that out loud. Especially my very own niece.”
“Well, did you do it?”
“Balmoral, I have no idea. You’ll just have to read between the lines.”
“I thought you just said the writer gave you your own mind.”
“Yes, but he didn’t give me my own body. I’d give myself anything to beat off in front of a mirror some time. That Cristina Rosamilia is one hot mama.”
“Doherty, you ain’t bad. Want to split a whiskey?”
“Sure, Balmoral, but let’s keep it from the author. It’s going to be a fun St. Patrick’s Day here in Chicago.”
“But it says here on page 153 that it’s Thanksgiving in Philadelphia.”
“Phooey on that. This is a mutiny, after all. I’m changing the setting.”
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