The Bialy Pimps
“Bricker was positively gleaming, and Slate was irritated with him.
“Authors,” Slate sneered.
Bricker had ensconced himself in a comfortable chair in the back corner of the main room, near the entrance to the restrooms. His chair, which he called “The Throne,” was decorated extravagantly with gold lamé fabric. A bust of George Washington sat atop its high back.
Darcy had been curious. “Where did you get the George Washington head?” she asked him.
Bricker always wore sunglasses now. The mirrored... lenses looked expressionlessly up at Darcy and replied, “I had it lying around.”
“You had it lying around?”
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“I see,” she said. “Did you by any chance notice that a similar bust which used to be on a pedestal in the lobby of the main library disappeared recently?”
“It did?”
“Yes.”
“Shame.” Bricker had been reading Edgar Allan Poe. From the first moment that the head was introduced to the decorated chair, Bricker insisted that the bust was not of Washington, but of Pallas.MoreLess
“Authors,” Slate sneered.
Bricker had ensconced himself in a comfortable chair in the back corner of the main room, near the entrance to the restrooms. His chair, which he called “The Throne,” was decorated extravagantly with gold lamé fabric. A bust of George Washington sat atop its high back.
Darcy had been curious. “Where did you get the George Washington head?” she asked him.
Bricker always wore sunglasses now. The mirrored... lenses looked expressionlessly up at Darcy and replied, “I had it lying around.”
“You had it lying around?”
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“I see,” she said. “Did you by any chance notice that a similar bust which used to be on a pedestal in the lobby of the main library disappeared recently?”
“It did?”
“Yes.”
“Shame.” Bricker had been reading Edgar Allan Poe. From the first moment that the head was introduced to the decorated chair, Bricker insisted that the bust was not of Washington, but of Pallas.MoreLess
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