"Hello!" I half shouted over the din. "Who is it?"
"You don't have to shout, Andrews, it's me, Dallas.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" I replied. "Where the hell are you?" "Temper, temper," he spoke softly into the phone, in a sickening honey-sweet voice, "please don't speak to me that way, or I might not play with you anymore." There was an awkward pause. "Okay, what do you want?" I finally managed to spit out, trying like hell to keep the venom out of my voice. Well, that fifty was pretty nice this afternoon," he drawled, "but I know how much this story means to you."
"So whaddaya want," I asked, barely keeping myself under control.
"Oh, let's see," he began slowly, "if today was worth fifty, then tomorrow should be worth, let's say, a hundred." It wasn't a question, it was a demand.
"Well," I said, knowing he had me by the balls, but trying not to show it, "what if I don't think it's worth that much? How do I know you're not just snowin' me?"
"Oh, it will be, sweetie." See you tomorrow, same time, same place."
"You fucking sponge!" I screamed into the receiver.
It seemed like every face at the bar turned in my direction The phone clicked, and the dial tone buzzed in my ear for a moment until somebody tapped me on the shoulder.
"Hey, buddy! You done with the phone or what?"
I silently handed him the phone and wandered aimlessly over toward the front door. Following this lead was gonna take a while, I thought to myself, then began thinking up ways to stall Al and the boys upstairs. I wholeheartedly agreed whith him on that point--besides, this is my fucking book, and I can cry if I want to. If you didn't get that you're to young to be reading this, so go now and confess your infraction to you mommy and daddy; the meager punishment they will deal you will be far less injurious to your soul than if you were to continue reading this filth and have your world view corrupted. I wouldn't want to inflict that on you, and besides, in spite of my paternal advice, I frankly don't need to get blamed for something else; I do a good enough job at on my own). So anyway, if you're still following me, then I assume that you're either old or wisened or cold- hearted enough to go on, or you're one of those morbid voyeristic types who reads the stories about Madonna's lesbian lovers in The Enquirer or you just want to see how much dirt I'm really going to dig up by the end of this book. If you are, then sit back and enjoy, for you're in for a treat. It's not that I'm such a morbid type myself, it's just that life has taught me over and over again a couple of major lessons:
1) The more someone smiles, the more you have to have to watch your back.
2) Don't trust anybody--especially yourself.