CHAPTER SIX
Lew Mazza was tired. He wished to God he was anywhere but in this creepy roadhouse club in the northern part of Florida. The place was thick with smoke; the lousy band was too loud and brassy. The floor show had been bad. And now he had to sit here and listen to the silly, drunken chatter of his silly Dolores broad and his junior partner, Aldo Hines. Well, the whole bit was one of the occupational hazards of being a theatrical agent.
He and Aldo had spotted this Dolores dame in a cheap Miami joint and both of them agreed she could really sing and had something special which could be brought out, would make her into the big time, if she was handled right. Handled right, Lew thought with irony. Boy, Aldo was sure "handling her right," had been ever since they started on the
