Dire Image in its Own Resealable Slice
“How’ll we
know the subject?” one of the chunkier men asked.
“Look for a
particular silvery hue of whiteness to the man’s shoes,” French Comanche
replied, looking at each man in turn. He
wore a fedora cocked at an angle more appropriate to jumping a long row of
transfer trucks before a crowd of folks in Las Vegas .
“A
particular silver hue of whiteness?” Carl, the only one among them with any
sense, questioned.
“That’s
what’s written on the card,” Comanche explained, holding up the grimy paper
object from which he took his orders.
Disgusted
by the entire operation, Carl later warned me with a card of his own.
.
