“No, shut up. I don’t want you to agree with me; I want you to use your misplaced acorn of a brain before the squirrel comes looking for it again. I have a blade at your throat, we’re seventy feet above the ground, it’s pissing a nice hard rain, and you just tried to murder me. By all rights, I ought to give you a red smile from ear to ear and let you drop. Would you agree to that?”
