He decided to become a high-level drug trafficker, even though he didn't know anything about it. He thought the first step would be to learn to fly a plane. He would soar over the mountains and dense jungles, making perilous landings on airstrips hacked out of the forest with a machete. He would meet with powerful men in the boardrooms of South American banks. He would bribe generals and Presidents, and there would be the killings, yes!—the killings. He wouldn't do this part himself, he would have specialists trained for the purpose who were loyal to him like dogs. He would stay in the car. Classical music would cover the fear, the screams. A supple young model would ease out the kinks in his neck and back with her delicate, strong fingers. Afterwards, he would bed her as Jack had bedded Marilyn, dreaming about blood.