EighteenSeb had to trawl a lot of bars before he found someone who could tell him where he’d be likely to find Hiram Williams, so it was late morning by the time he tracked the old snoop down to the Second Street Eureka Bathhouse, where he located him trapped in a barber’s chair, a towel hung around his shoulders. The barber had just finished giving him a shave and his cheeks shone with newly washed pinkness.
“I’m in no position to talk to you, Mr Russell,” Williams protested as the barber clipped away at the back of his neck. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” The barber’s shop was next door to the baths entry, and the perfume of toilet soaps and hair shampoo hung in the steamy warm air.
“No problem. I can wait.” Seb dragged a stool from the shop waiting area and perched on it expectantly. “Havi
