I placed the gun down on the table, went to the stove and poured myself a cup of coffee, returned to the table and sat down. My eyes remained fixed on the gun because there was something I had to remember about it.

I’m not a gun fancier; I’ve had too much experience with them. Handling as much money as you do at the clubs you never know when you might be in season. The .38 was strictly for my health.

I downed the coffee, picked up the rod, and left the room. I had to get cleaned up because Gwynn liked me best with clean shoes and a smooth chin.

(cf. Waer, Jack. Murder in Las Vegas).