In The Swim
The next thing I knew I was in Albie Rose’s swimming pool. And so was Foster! He was really thrashing around, the way some humans do in the water. Personally I love the water. I swam around a bit, watched Foster’s gun sink slowly to the bottom. I could dive down to the bottom and get it, no problem – or not. I swam over to the side of the pool near Bernie to see if he had anything to say about that.
He was standing beside Albie Rose. The umbrella was lying upside down for some reason. “See,” Bernie said, “despite you being a financier – admirable profession, of course – the reason I thought you’d know something about showgirls is that you’ve been married to eight of them. Three named Tiffany, if I remember.”
Foster came sputtering to the surface. “Not the third one,” he said. “Her name was really Ethel. But you kept calling her Tiffany so much she finally changed it legally.”
Albie Rose turned to Foster, eyes narrowing. “How do you know so much about her?”
What was I going on? I wasn’t sure, just knew this was an interview of some kind, and Bernie was a great interviewer. We’d cleared a lot of cases, me and Bernie, but my favorites always included a swim or two.
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