“It was 5 p.m. on a Tuesday, who was gonna know? I took the service elevator to the lobby. I saw no sign of newshounds, just a few well-fed gents bellied up to the Towne and Country Bar. Their name badges read ‘Iowa City Chamber of Commerce.’ I was pleasantly surprised to see Winston behind the bar. I ordered dinner and a beer. I didn’t need any more hard stuff after nipping at Harvey’s flask all afternoon. With the slightest twitch of an eyebrow Winston indicated I had company. A large man wear...ing a floppy black hat took the barstool to my left. He wore an expensive pinstriped suit. “You are Mr. Harold Schroeder?” lisped the man. He was about forty, with a flat pale face and a wide clownish mouth. He spoke with a Russian accent. “You are heem?” “Yeah, yeah, I am heem.” I asked how he knew where to find me. “Everyone says you are here.” And here I was, parked on my barstool in the Towne and Country Lounge, the Harold Schroeder anti-Communist Command Center. I leaned over and grabbed the Russian’s wrist, hard, felt his pulse hammering.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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