-They're all the' same' snorted Whiteside.

"Maybe he should have tried as a defender," offered Grover, slipping into an impeccably working-cla.s.s accent from northern England.

"For Newcastle. Or maybe Leeds United" Grover broke into a genuine laugh as Hunte'r shot him a half annoyed glare.

"For Christ's sake," snapped Thomas angrily and in confusion, 'what the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

The room was quickly silent as the three men knew Thomas was not thinking properly and able to reason.

"You don't understand our terms, is that it?" asked Whiteside.

"No.

"Well," he answered expansively, drawing out the word, 'in point of fact, that's why you're here." He rose from where he was sitting and explained further.

"Terms," he said.

"Terms " "Trash collection" said Whiteside.

"You know all about it. Except what it is" Thomas eyed each of the three men.

"And how about your dad?" asked Hunter.

"The 'recruiting sergeant'?" There was a trace of hostility in his voice.

Thomas looked at the three men suspiciously. He answered in a calm even voice.

"I don't even know what you're talking about' "Well then," said Whiteside, his voice now barely above a whisper.

"It's high time you learned." Whiteside turned his graying head and addressed Grover.

"Tell us, Mr. Grover," he said, 'take us back to 1938. When exactly did you go into trash collecting?"

"It was that year," said Grover.

"Maybe you could give our friend here a few of the details,"

Whiteside suggested easing himself back into his chair.

"Bring him up to date " Grover looked at Thomas with some surprise.

"You don't know this story, huh?" he asked.

"How would I know anything about you?" answered Thomas huffily.

"Your old man" said Grover, speaking again in an American accent, this time almost with New York street intonations.

"He sure kept his lips tight " "What's trash collection?" Thomas asked.

"Disposal of waste material," said Grover.

"Getting rid of the garbage. Human garbage. Got it yet?"

"Not quite."

"From the start, Mr. Grover," said Whiteside in civilized tones.

"Briefly, but from the start."

Hunter leaned back in his chair, tilting back on the chair's two rear legs. His thick arms were folded across his barrel chest. He alternated his gaze back and forth between his captive, Thomas and his a.s.sociate, Grover, who was starting to speak.

"I'd had trouble with the law off and on through 1938 and 1939,"

said Grover.

"Small stuff. Checks. Bank books. s.h.i.t like that."

"Mr. Grover was a forger, Mr. Daniels. A very good one As you know,"

commented Whiteside.

Thomas nodded.

"I don't like to be boastful," said Grover humbly, 'but-' "But he could look at a signature once and reproduce it" said Whiteside.

"The endowments of an artist, in a sense " "I know about his criminal career," said Thomas.

"What's it have to do with garbage?"

"Trash," Grover corrected him, quickly and gleefully.

"Trash collection. You see, in 1940 I was in trouble. Very serious trouble with the United States government over a bit of artwork I was doing:' "Forgery?"

"Certain signatures," said Grover innocently.

"On a set of Treasury bills He shrugged.

"The signatures themselves were perfectly done. Using the wrong name did me in."

"What did it have to do with Sandler?" asked Thomas.

Grover smiled.

"Very good" he complimented the younger man.

"You figured that right away." He paused, glancing at Whiteside.

"I.