"Al, what the hell happened? That hit on Lestrade was a total cock-up," Sebastian Moran growled into the phone.
"Shit happens, boss," Aldelbert Gruner replied unabashed.
"I thought we agreed on hiring Reed to do the job."
"We did, but 'The Torpedo' priced himself out of the market. Revenues are down this year. We didn't get that 'Sherlock dividend' Moriarty promised."
"So you hired an unknown kid, this Dom Bailey, to do it?"
"Price was right. He was eager to make his bones."
"Yeah, except they were the wrong ones. What did you do? Show him a picture, tell him his mark would be at Crown Court and turn him loose?"
"How was I to know that they'd moved up the consiglieri's hearing?"
"Dial the damn phone!"
"Seb, what's the problem? Disbarred, Nick Savage was a liability. Problem solved."
"We've traded one liability for another, plus there's still Lestrade."
"Look, Bailey's a copper's brother. She knows what he did and let him go. Could be useful."
"That bitch didn't make it to the sergeant's exam. You want to wait for her to make DCI? Take care of it personally, Gruner." Moran cut the connection.
He was learning what Moriarty must have known. Good help, nowadays, was hard to find. Incompetent subordinates could drive one to drink. Moran reached for the bottle.