The man called himself Manny Rollins. Evening manager for the Freiburg. Good looking. Always smiling. A set of teeth as white as a freshly painted white wall. Handsome in a slick, almost oily, effeminate way. He usually positioned himself behind the hotel"s main counter in the lobby greeting guests and booking them a room upon their arrival. But on a regular basis every night he would circulate through the large hotel checking out the various departments which made the hotel a five-star establishment. Usually, at 9:45 every night, he would slip into the hotel"s main watering hole up on the eighth floor and have one drink, alone, at a small table in one far corner of the dimly lit room.
When Rollins sat down at his table and began lifting his bourbon on the rocks to his lips, Smitty slippe
