the smuggler’s bible


Lowen lights a cigarette and sets in the ashtray, leaving it to burn down. He flips through the file in his lap, stopping on occasion to underline something in dark pencil.

“The coverage is excellent. Really top-notch,” Malkin says.

“Nothing is perfect.”

“You aren’t hearing me. Listen, you can have perfect—up to a point at least. If you asked me to set something up, this is how I would do it.”

“So tell me what you’d be worried about.”

“It’s just us,” Malkin sighs and shrugs. “Isn’t that right, Lowen? Well, we’re both going to get shot this time.”