CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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A rollicking band of pirates we,
Who, tired of tossing on the sea,
Are trying their hand at a burglaree,
With weapons grim and gory.
—Ibid, Act II
“I want a new stomach,” I said twenty minutes later as we stood outside the warm cream-colored brick house that sat on a bluff overlooking the turbulent, rocky northern California shore.
“It looks okay to me,” Holder said, giving my stomach a quick glance as he banged for a third time on the door. “You women are always obsessed with your weight. My wife has a few extra pounds, and I love it. Wouldn’t have her any other way. A man likes to have a woman with something to her, not one of those walking skeletons you see modeling clothes on the E! channel.”
“Boy, we need to bottle that attitude and sell it to ev
