Twenty-Five - James
Klempner breezes back. Richard gifts him a look that would shrivel paint…
A neat trick from behind mirrored sunglasses…
“That was a dirty move. I had to invent a training post on the spot.”
Klempner’s cheeks suck hollow and his eyes crease as he sits. The waiter hovers. “Another beer, sir?”
“Thank you, yes.” Apparently in high good humour, he glances around. “Where’s the kid?”
“She has a name…” Richard could be chewing a wasp. “… Lydia. You didn’t take the time to learn that?”
nameKlempner’s forehead wrinkles. “Should I have?” He flexes and re-flexes the fingers of his left hand.
Mitch peers close. “How did you skin your knuckles?”
“Belt buckle.”
Richard nods across the square to where Lydia is walking away, her suitcase rattling behind. At the edge of the sq
