Andrew mulled it over, right there on stage. Phillip was turning yellow and stiff, and quite frankly, his timing wasn't what it used to be. He had blood on his hands and now maybe a man on his trail. Killing the competition still wasn't bringing the kind of following they needed. Maybe ventriloquism was a dead art. He didn't know what to do, so he just sat there, waiting for whatever was coming. He'd stopped moving his lips a long time ago.