Chapter 4Too soused on the sauce to talk about my job, we put it off until the morning. Make that the late morning when sobriety gave a faint knock on the door and whispered that we should get our butts out of our respective sacks. Marty fixed breakfast while I took a shave and a shower, my first ones since decamping from the Twentieth Century Limited. Then we sat down at a leaf table with shaky legs to Marty's own special concoction, eggs Benedictine, which went lighter on the eggs than the Benedictine.
“I'll tell you, pal,” Marty said after applying some jam to his eggs, “you've got a sweetheart of a job coming up.” He slurped the eggs and rinsed them down with some Maxwell House. “Tell the truth, I'd like the set-up for myself, but the client wants a new face in town that nobody recogn
