CHAPTER TWO
In his swank, east Side duplex apartment, short, blond-haired Wallace Bobbins was mixing drinks. He wore sandals and a black Japanese silk robe. His face, seamed with the lines of middle-age was freshly shaved and scented and his long hair was sleeked back with an ointment. Despite the late hour he had prepared himself, as he always did, when expecting female company. However, as he stood before his fireplace he appeared oblivious to his guest and was more concerned with the silver cocktail mixer which he shook rhythmically.
"Soon be cold," he explained. "We'll polish off a couple and get sent straight to where we should be headed on a night like this."
Stretched out before him on a king-sized couch, the frame of which was Danish teak, was Jacqueline. She had kicked off her
