10: Dead Virgins Don’t SingThe percolator hadn’t even finished brewing the morning coffee when someone knocked on Smith’s office door. To keep some shred of dignity in case it was a potential new client—although he knew, deep in his heart, there probably would never be another new client after this fiasco—he quickly collected the half-drunk liquor bottles from the top of his desk and crammed them into the bottom drawer.
He heard a second knock—this one more impatient than the first.
“Coming! Hold your horses!”
Smith opened his office door, and George barged in, flustered. He stormed to the middle of the room and spun to face Smith.
Oh, damn, he knows I took the book. Just do what you do best: open your mouth, and some half-believable excuse should just fly out like it always does.
Smi
