Jefferson Blythe, Esquire (2015) - Plot & Excerpts
* * * The morning after Norman’s final attempt to kill me, I sat fortifying myself with coffee on the terrace of Doney’s in front of the Westin Excelsior while I thought over George’s explanation of why it would never work out between us. I wish I was kidding. In fairness, George didn’t come right out and say it would never work. And before we ever got around to talking about us—the us that was apparently only wishful thinking on my part—we’d spent most of our night together discussing previous events. Which sadly all had to do with Norman. I can say this though, it’s very handy having a friend in the CIA. Especially if you’re involved in a shooting incident in a country where you don’t speak the language. Left on my own, I’d probably have spent the remainder of my vacation in a cell with Norman. But George showed his ID and did all the talking—we could add speaking bad Italian to his list of accomplishments—while the police surgeon bandaged my arm.
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