I was meeting Wolfe after work at Peaches. It was the first time I’d seen him since the dinner party a week prior. Peaches had become a regular alternative to the office. Darrin said big t**s helped people think more clearly, plus he ran a tab for the firm. My love for a scotch or a dirty martini had remained unchanged, though liquor no longer dulled me, rather kept me going through long sessions.
At Peaches, a hostess with purple lips and enormous hair led me to a back area. Jutting off from the main bar, through a narrow doorway, was a room with two alcove booths. Long curtains offered entry into each booth, which featured a round table, an arc of velvet seating and its own chandelier. It was very Victorian bordello. Wolfe was in a booth with Eva from the dinner party. Going through the
