Chapter 78

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And so, back in the club we were. I’d almost been murdered once that week; here was attempt number two. My poor parents. What an obituary: he died in a drag bar.I mean, better than: he died in a scotch barrel—but not much better. Because I’d still be dead either way.

I shook the morbid thoughts away. I was on a job. I had a plan. George Michael said that you had to have faith. Doesn’t seem to have done George Michael much good, but I was still holding on to the sentiment.

We were corralled in the dressing room. None of us had our cell phones. We were in a bar, and none of us had a drink. Fate was playing nasty tricks on us.

“Now what?” said Arthur.

The dawn had at last broken through from the darkness. I smiled as I retrieved my house keys from my front pocket, the largest key slipping between my index and middle finger. “Duck,” I said