“Nice and friendly, Albie leaving his door open like this,” Bernie said as we entered the house, a cool breeze of air-conditioning flowing in our faces. I’m not a big fan of air-conditioning. It makes me sneezy sometimes. But not now. Now I was more interested in this huge, quiet house of Albie’s. And was he really nice and friendly? Not that I remembered. Plus he smelled of old cheese, a smell I wasn’t picking up at the moment. So Albie wasn’t home. In fact, no one seemed to be home. Houses feel different when they’re empty, hard to explain why. So I won’t even try.
After a while we were in the kitchen. It kind of reminded me of the kitchen at Max’s Memphis Ribs – one of my very favorite places – except it was way bigger. I sniffed around for scraps, found none. That hardly ever happened in kitchens. Meanwhile Bernie was gazing at the table. There was nothing on it but a wine glass, lying on its side. Bernie took out the .38 Special. Always glad to see the .38 Special, of course, but why now? For a moment I thought Bernie was going to blow that wine glass to smithereens. Did that make sense? Kind of, at least to me.
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