And Casper Faunt tells a story about himself, driving a Corvette from Bangor, Maine to Los Angeles. He claims himself as Jack Kerouac 2.0.
Just as Casper finishes his exhausting story, which is dull and time consuming, a string of rambling and relentless banter, nothing shocking and interesting, Dillon shows up at the dinner party. It’s approximately nine o’clock. He still wears his navy blue officer’s uniform from his long day at work, his shield glowing. His smile pert. His eyes sultry. Such a handsome man. A hot cop, for lack of a better definition. A total head-turner.
Jason doesn’t see the handgun at the man’s right side. But he does see Dillon’s eyes, which are a sure sign that he’s exhausted and maybe needs his bed and a long night of enjoyable sleep.
In Dillon’s right hand is a bottle of amber-colored champagne.