Chapter Seven
I nursed my anger for the better part of a night. She’d be at my cellar door come morning, that’s if Harry left at the usual hour. It wouldn’t be a pretty session. I dwelled on her duplicity—the big lie she never even hinted about. The parties, the set-ups with other men. She was little more than her husband’s w***e from what I could gather. Fine for him, but she comes crying to me? I was as bewildered as I was angry. What kind of woman was she?
Impulse and stupidity sometimes work in tandem, which they did that night. I called Davis, out of the blue. It had been some time since we’d spoken, enough so that he had to hesitate when I told him who I was.
“Marc! Hey, guy, what’s up? Awful late, isn’t it?”
“Ten too late for you now?”
“Heck, I have this steady thing going on
