Moneybags sees the grin and ruffles like a startled bird. His fur collar almost seems to stand up. Goon’s making some sort of noise, I think it’s what answers for laughter for his kind, a sort of gleeful throat clearing. Moneybags slaps the back of his head.
“Quiet!” he commands. A deep voice. I recognize it.
He looks up at my smiling face again and blanches.
“Mark,” he says, and Number One nods. The big guy makes for one of the shadowy walls while the shriveled form of the Goon and the rotund Moneybags stay there gaping as I bleed.
Tale Told 