*Sterling*
I have to admit that I look every bit the ruffian. Not shaving or sleeping has given me a roughened look. The not shaving was Moondancer’s idea. The lack of sleep comes from hours of sitting with Frannie. I desperately want her to wake up, but at least I don’t have to lie to her. I know she wouldn’t approve of what I’m going to do, but I have to do it. For her sake. And maybe a little for mine.
I don’t ask where the bedraggled clothes that Swindler brought me came from. They make me itch. I don’t look like a beggar, but neither do I look like a man whose clothes normally come from one of the most exclusive tailors in Blackrock city.
Word has come through Feagan that I should take a corner table at the designated gin palace at ten. Someone will meet me.
“It probably won’t be
