The Whole Megillah
“The word was printed backwards on the front so that it could be read by anyone who happened to be looking in a mirror at the time. The double doors at the back stood open, but nobody was hanging around except for a panhandler with a brush cut. He looked like he’d been driven out of an officer’s training camp. He even had a knapsack slung over one shoulder. I didn’t check to see if there was a swagger stick inside.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked him, dropping a loonie into his hand.
‘Guy got... beat up in the hotel,’ he said.
‘What?’ ‘Yeah, Fergie, one of the waiters, just told me. They’re bringing him down the stairs.’ ‘Was it a fight in the beverage room?’ ‘Nobody says "beverage room’’ any more, fellah. Get with it.’ ‘Who got hurt?’ ‘An old Irish gaffer on the third floor. I seen him around, you know. I know the guy Fergie means. I seen him here before.’ ‘What happened? What did Fergie say?’ I asked, feeling ice in my stomach.MoreLess
‘What’s going on?’ I asked him, dropping a loonie into his hand.
‘Guy got... beat up in the hotel,’ he said.
‘What?’ ‘Yeah, Fergie, one of the waiters, just told me. They’re bringing him down the stairs.’ ‘Was it a fight in the beverage room?’ ‘Nobody says "beverage room’’ any more, fellah. Get with it.’ ‘Who got hurt?’ ‘An old Irish gaffer on the third floor. I seen him around, you know. I know the guy Fergie means. I seen him here before.’ ‘What happened? What did Fergie say?’ I asked, feeling ice in my stomach.MoreLess
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