The Fish Kisser (2001)
“D.I. Bliss muttered angrily, as he drove the stolen black Mercedes through central Turkey.
“It’s the same in Holland,” said Yolanda, through a yawn, catching him by surprise as she woke.
“No wonder people steal things,” he grumbled, shuffling through the car owner’s cassette collection, seeking something soothing—Brahms or a Bach adagio perhaps. “We’ve been driving for hours and haven’t been stopped.”
“Nearly three hours,” she noted, glancing at her watch. Then she stretched extravagantly and e...nded by combing the fingers of her left hand through his hair.
“I haven’t even seen a police car,” he continued despondently, a soft warm feeling running through him as her fingers played with the hairs on the back of his neck; he slipped a likely looking tape into the player.
“I don’t know if we’d be able to get them to believe us anyway,” she added, then clamped her hands over her ears at the raucous blare of a Turkish version of “Jailhouse Rock.”
The road, which earlier had been as peaceful as could be expected anywhere on a early Saturday morning, was now buzzing with carloads of families, busloads of tourists, and truck-loads of everything imaginable, and unimaginable.MoreLess
“It’s the same in Holland,” said Yolanda, through a yawn, catching him by surprise as she woke.
“No wonder people steal things,” he grumbled, shuffling through the car owner’s cassette collection, seeking something soothing—Brahms or a Bach adagio perhaps. “We’ve been driving for hours and haven’t been stopped.”
“Nearly three hours,” she noted, glancing at her watch. Then she stretched extravagantly and e...nded by combing the fingers of her left hand through his hair.
“I haven’t even seen a police car,” he continued despondently, a soft warm feeling running through him as her fingers played with the hairs on the back of his neck; he slipped a likely looking tape into the player.
“I don’t know if we’d be able to get them to believe us anyway,” she added, then clamped her hands over her ears at the raucous blare of a Turkish version of “Jailhouse Rock.”
The road, which earlier had been as peaceful as could be expected anywhere on a early Saturday morning, was now buzzing with carloads of families, busloads of tourists, and truck-loads of everything imaginable, and unimaginable.MoreLess
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