“‘Walk into a door, didja?’ insinuated the one trained to speak. The other one thrust a wad of cocktail napkins into my hand, something to stop me bleeding all over the floor. My white linen-blend shirt was a write-off. Only worn twice. Sixty bucks at Henry Buck’s winter sale. ‘I’ve been athaulted,’ I complained, spraying pink saliva. ‘He’th about twenty-thicth, medium height, brown thuede jacket.’ Grudgingly, they escorted me around the premises in search of my assailant. He appeared to have ab...sconded. Nor was there any sign of the rest of the cast, Montgomery and Ali, Jean-Paul and Maria. Audrey, too, had made the great escape. ‘Call the copth,’ I demanded. This got me nowhere but the front door. One of the blondes indicated a payphone across the street, slammed the velvet rope behind me and turned her pretty face to stone. The phone had been trashed, the handpiece torn off. I toyed with finding another, but not for long. The result was all too easy to predict. An extended wait on a freezing-cold street corner.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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