Chapter 3In the time that I had known him I could never feel certain whether Marty was glad to see me or not. Oh, he always had a big smile all right, but it was pretty difficult to understand what he said. The booze and the occasional strange cigarettes that he smoked didn't help matters. But today Mumbles seemed sober—or at least relatively so—and a surprisingly understandable “Hiya, buddy, long time no see” accompanied his broad smile and firm handshake. “Put your grip down over there next to the pile of dirty laundry and let's have a snort or two. Whaddya drinking these days?”
Marty hadn't changed. Nor had my taste for Jack Daniel's, several of which I polished off to keep my host company. He gulped down what seemed to me more rye than the Chicago bootleggers could have run from Canad
