“You can’t come in here!” Ossie Peabody, the drummer of Bobby’s band, was well-built, but he had no chance against the burly man who simply pushed the door open and brushed him aside. Ossie made an angry noise, which caused Bobby Stuart to turn around and say, “That’s all right, Ossie. Take it easy.” He was exhausted after a tiring concert. It had gone on for more than four hours, and he had given it everything he had. Bobby was accustomed to backstage visitors, but usually they were fifteen- or... sixteen-year-old teenyboppers. The man who entered the room looked like a truck driver. He was short, muscular, and had hands like hams. His smallish brown eyes were deep set and were regarding him carefully. For a moment fear touched Bobby, for he was not yet clear on the charges he had incurred back in Arkansas. The girl’s parents, whatever her name was, were pressing it, and Bobby had paid a mint to lawyers. This man looked like a policeman, or maybe a process server.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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