“Only it was a little too early in the day to make an appearance at that particular venue, seeing as the proprietor was famous in his neck of the woods for never showing his face until the streets were aired, as it were. So I went and collected the Pontiac and made my way to Clapham to have a few quiet beers in a little pub I know there. I had a lot to think about. I knew I wasn't being particularly smart. As a private investigator, I'd probably make a reasonable window cleaner, and earn more. I... was hardly the Philip Marlowe of the inner city. I probably wouldn't be able to find the mean streets, let alone go down them.
Everyone had told me to get off the case, and everybody was probably right. But it just seemed too pat. I felt as if every move I made was pre-ordained. I was being manipulated at every turn, and I couldn't see where the manipulation was coming from. I felt like Pavlov's dog without a biscuit for my troubles.
Patsy Bright must have made some pretty heavy friends, or enemies; which, I didn't know.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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