"We chose it, and its still ours, Ace," said Al.
Ace coughed nervously. "There's no point in doing all the filthy business again," he protested.
"Why not?" asked Al sweetly.
"They are wrong things."
Al laughed out aloud. "Wrong things? Where was your conscience when you killed that woman was the seventh victim of the Falcons? And if you have grown so righteous, why not go and hand yourself over to the police?"
Now Buck spoke. "Ace, the reason you do not want to start all this over again is because you don't gain anything from it, except more money. Already you have enough, and you are content with your safe, dry job. What about us? Do you think that we are going to spend the rest of our lives like beggars, while you live in bliss?"
"What are you going to do?" asked Ace.
"We have got a few goals, of course," said Buck with unusual modesty.
"A couple of murders is the first step towards success," said Al nastily.
"Listen, Al, Buck, the police under this new sergeant is right on your heels. They don't have any evidence, but that's because you have been lying low outside Toronto for the past five years. You haven't given them any trouble. We covered our tracks before carefully, but things could go wrong now."
"Listen, Ace, we are giving you one last chance to agree with us," said Al. "Otherwise get ready to face the consequences."
Ace trembled at the thought of consequences. The Falcons had always been united, and that had been the reason of their success, but Al and Buck were hotheaded, and in their present troubled state of mind, they could do anything.