By Gil Brewer
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Additional info for A Taste for Sin
Sure. ” She tipped her lips with her tongue. “He’s the assistant cashier. He has a key to everything. He’s my husband. ” “Stop right there,” I said. I wanted to laugh in her face. ” “Well, you haven’t,” I told her. Excitement drove into me. “You haven’t thought out a damned thing. You can’t use his key. ” I wanted to stop. I wanted to go. Stop talking and thinking and go home. I couldn’t. My brain worked like mad. It had hold of this thing like a starved mongrel. It ran like a machine. It ticked one thing right off after another as easily as you please.
I waited five minutes, then tried again. ” “I don’t think I know anybody by that name. ” “Krueger,” I said. “This guy Sy Krueger. I don’t know how well you know him, but stay away from him from now on. If you see him, freeze him cold. Don’t even speak to him. He’s a bastard and he knows about the store, and I don’t like the way he acts. ” “That’s entirely possible,” she said. ” I wanted to hold her on the line. I wanted to be with her. I didn’t want her to hang up. “How you making out with the fishing?
I refused to concentrate on the idea of the passports; I preferred my subconscious do the laboring, before I picked up threads and knitted them together. Things such as false birth certificates; one for me, one for Felice. I had selected my pigeon, a guy who would never go much beyond the city limits of Allayne. Roy Taft. I had to find out where he was born. I began to know how I would do that with the aid of Astrology. I laughed, thinking about it. His age was the same as mine, thirty. I timed the bus.