The Seersucker Whipsaw
“Shartelle called “It’s open,” and I walked into a room that was the twin of mine. Shartelle sat on the edge of the bed, with most of the hotel-provided stationery scattered about on the counterpane and the floor. “This mess is the beginning of our campaign, Petey,” he said.
“Looks impressive. Busy, anyway.”
“How was the water?”
“I fished out a date for dinner.”
“White girl?” he asked and arranged some sheets of paper in different order.
“Yes.”
“Thought you might have latched on to one of the daughters of the opposition who would do a little peeping for us, but my luck doesn’t much run that way.”
“I’ll do better next time.”
Shartelle gathered up a few of the papers and put them on the desk. “This is going to be mighty tricky,” he said.
“What?”
“The campaign.”
“We have a chance?” I said, and picked up one of the sheets of paper from the floor and put it on the bed. Shartelle put it back on the floor.
“That’s about it.”
“Can you buy it?”
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