THOUGHTS… AND I THINK AN EXTORTION. MAYBE IT’s BLACKMAIL. HARD TO
“You had it coming, Joey,” Polly said.
“You should talk, you whore,” answered Joey.
“For God’s sake, Joey,” Harold moaned. “Did you think this was a priest or dear fucking Abby?”
“Shut up.”
Graham arrived on the scene.
“Carmine heard this last night, Joey,” he said. “But I told him we wanted to surprise you. I figure you got maybe a three-hour start if you get going now. Unless Carmine’s already talked to Harold here.”
Joey looked wildly around.
“Harold, shoot somebody,” he said.
Harold’s eye was sending telegrams.
“Sorry, boss,” he said.
“Leave now, Mr. Foglio,” Candy said. “There has been more than enough dying.”
Foglio straightened himself up and looked her dead in the eye. “You’ll get yours, you bitch.”
Any second now.
The high-banked curves were tough because he kept slipping and getting water in his mouth. Neal found he could dig one foot into the curved side and push while he pulled himself up with his hands. It was taking time, though, and he was running out of time.
Karen tried to stay on the terrace. She really did. But she saw her friends down there, people she loved: Candy Landis, the flawed but somehow lovable-and pregnant-Polly Paget, and Joe Graham.
Dear, dear Joe Graham.
She ran down the stairs and started across the terrace, waving her arms and yelling.