I cracked open the paperback.
“Chapter 1, The Case Of The Salve A Door, Dolly.
When I walked through the revolting door of the Hotel Ballfour, I spied a couple punts playing catch in the lobby.
There was a maid giving French lessons to a show fur salesman by the lemonzine stand in the corner.
I figured my client, Stir Reel, was the old party staggering out of the bar with a fishy barracuda in a candy striper outfit on one arm and the phoney inventor, Macaroni, at his elbow.
I saddled up to my nurse-wild employer and snorted: ‘Its like the stockman said to the C.E.O., People know you by the company you keep.’
‘Mr. Friday?’, he asked.
‘Yes, Phillip Friday.’
‘Yes’ I belched.
Then I told him we should go.
‘Every lobby has chairs’ I said “but these chairs have more than their quota of bums.'”