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"Move away from the retard." The familiar raspy voice was accompanied by a menacing click.
Fucking Shanker. A sickening feeling of dismay and confusion spiralled through my gut. How on earth...? Not five minutes ago I'd spoken to Sandra when she was serving him cocktails way across town at the Double Ducey--
Something clicked in my brain and a lot of unexplained details suddenly started making sense. Her sudden interest in folk art. The abrupt hang-ups lately whenever I walked into the room. The "Shanker's Paradise" tattoo on her cunt. How could I ever have been so stupid?
I had to face it: I'd been beaten at my own game. All I could do was tip my hat to her. It'd been a world-class performance. But getting collared by Shanker...that was going to stick in my craw for a long time.
I let the tard drop to the floor and put my hands behind my head.
Date Written: January 18, 2004
Author: Jon Matza
Average Vote: 4.5