“You do remember me don’t you?” She asked.
I would have said yes to anything she asked with a voice like that. But I did remember her as well as some of her most interesting attributes that she revealed to me while my head was being squashed on the soiled carpet of that Lincoln Continental Limousine a couple of nights ago.
“Absolutely, how’s Tampa Ray doing?” I replied, trying to be nice.
“This call isn’t about Tampa Ray; it’s about a poor girl who was killed who I knew very well. Can you meet me tonight, say around ten o’clock?”
“Of course, where would you like to meet?”
“Do you know where Judge’s Beyond The Reef is located?”
“Yeah, it’s just down the road from Hepfner’s Bowling Alley on the corner of North Avenue and Calhoun Road in Brookfield. I have been there a few times. They make a pretty good brandy manhattan.”
I didn’t tell her I had spent about three hours one night watching a client’s wife smear lipstick all over a local high school football coaches’ face while I was slamming down those overpriced manhattans.
“I’ll see you at ten then?” She asked.
“You’ll see me at ten then Thelma.”
She hung up on me.