I closed the office, took the elevator down and hit the street. Well, to celebrate my progress as probably the greatest detective in L.A. I smiled, leaned back in my chair and thought about her: Cindy Bass. I took out a coin and flipped it: heads, Red Sparrow tails, Cindy Bass. After all, there was still the Red Sparrow and Cindy Bass. I uncapped the vodka and had a little nip. You’ll make it, you just have to endure.” “Yeah. Business has been bad.” “ I’ve been watching you. It’s a little raw but that’s part of the charm.” “Great to hear. “Yes, you’ve been recommending me, thank you.” “ I’ve been watching you.
Or was I Harry Martel? “This is John Barton,” came the voice. I wiped it dry with a past due bill from the IRS, picked it up. But what have my hands done? Scratched my balls, written checks, tied shoes, pushed toilet levers, etc. Sometimes I looked at my hands and realized that I could have been a great pianist or something. Jealous chipmunks, that’s what they were! I was gifted, am gifted. Somebody could yell out, “Hey, Harry! Harry Martel!” and I’d most likely answer, “Yeah, what is it?” I mean, I could be anybody, what does it matter? What’s in a name? Life’s strange, isn’t it? They always chose me last on the baseball team because they knew I could drive that son-of-a-bitch out there, all the way to Denver.
Was Celine Celine or was he somebody else? Sometimes I felt that I didn’t even know who I was. Maybe it would be better to work on the Celine Case.
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