Ladies' Night
“"You're talking about the Dorset? Big fucking high-rise over at 68th and Broadway?" "That's right." "You're gonna love this. I know a guy's got guns over there.”
“What?" "Sure. Real good friend of mine. Name's Glen Sharkey. You know him?" "It's a big building." "Glen's a retired cop, off the force maybe two years now. He's got a Colt .45 and a .22 something-or-other — guns aren't my specialty. But I've seen 'em both. Keeps 'em in his bedroom closet. Even if he's not there, I know where to find ‘em." The big man laughed and stepped behind the bar. "Hell, I've got his keys here! Glen drinks a little. I keep a set in case he gets forgetful." He punched open the cash register and took a key out of the drawer and used it on a small metal box next to the register. There must have been a dozen sets of labeled keys in there. Evidently the cop was not Phil's only customer who drank a little.
He found the ones he wanted.
"Here we go," he said.
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