12.
 Except the cop. Zydak was waiting for him the next day when Mick came out of the bank with his freshly printed check for $2400, or rather just the stub, which he'd put into his art portfolio. He'd already cashed the check, had cash in his pocket.
Zydak wore a black hat and a long coat. He leaned against the building with his hands in his pockets. His wisp of a companion waited in the parked car across the street. "Thompson!"
Mick stopped.
"Did you talk to your brother?" Zydak gave up his wall and straightened up, walking toward Mick.
"Yes. He says he'll think about it."
"How long does he need to think?"
"I don't know. A few days."
"He's got until Friday. Tell him."
"I will."
Zydak started to turn. "Oh, by the way. This young lady, er, your friend—."
"Lisa.
"That her name now?"
"Yes. Lisa Powers. What do you mean?"
"I could have sworn her name was Anita." He scratched his head. "Well, I could be wrong. Seems to me her name is Anita Towers, and she picks up a few gigs dancing late at night, you know, topless. Well, that's just the martini. The olive comes later if you get my drift."
"You're nuts."
"Naw. I talk to the people in Vice. They've seen her around again. Hustling."
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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