Downstairs at the Upstairs
We went through the kitchen – me and Bernie in front, the bad guys with Suzie in the middle, Freddie Dancer’s gun to her head. We walked down the hall, past the office and Charlie’s bedroom. Have I mentioned Charlie? Love Charlie. He’s Bernie’s kid, Bernie’s and Leda’s, actually, and since the divorce his bedroom is mostly empty. Maybe I’ll get into the divorce thing some other time – I still remember a big plate flying through the air: who’d have thought Leda had an arm like that? Bernie’s got a great arm. He pitched in college, which for him was West Point. Also maybe a story for later. But right now, where we?
Sunday! Elvis Gospel! Milky White Way!
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