Now, when I call Walt, it’s usually in search of something more conventional in the way of professional counsel. I figured when I told him I needed an escort to a nudie bar, it would catch him off guard a bit. I should have known better.
“Sam, you’re a pistol,” he said. His characteristic growl sounded positively gleeful. “Anything for a case. Sure I’ll go.”
“I was thinking about tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, no problem. What the hell? I could use a drink, even a bad one.”
I smiled. “I guess the … entertainment doesn’t hurt either.”
He snorted. “Nothing I ain’t seen before. Dump like that, probably pay ’em to put their clothes back on.”
We arranged to meet there. Walt said he’d take a cab, because he figured on tying one on.
Aces High was in a fashionable, light industrial section of Route
