It’s late. From beyond the lounge, the front door bangs open, then closed. Footsteps echo down the hallway.
The lounge door slams wide and Klempner strides in, glances around, gives me a short acknowledging nod, then heads for the drinks cabinet, helping himself to a malt.
A large malt.
largeGlass in hand, he knocks back half of it in two gulps, then sags into an armchair, staring at the walls.
Bad day at the office…
“Mind if I join you? I rather enjoy drinking my own whiskey.”
He ignores the sarcasm. Waves a hand, a-la Queen-of-England-and-our-subjects. “Be my guest.”
Queen-of-England-and-our-subjectsI don’t truly want the whiskey, but I’m seeing a man who clearly does. Pouring myself a finger, I resume my armchair. “Anything I can do to help?”
He raises the glass to his lips, gul
