Bond was deep into paperwork when his phone rang about five.
“Hey, man, it’s Marshall. How’s it going?”
“Fine. How was your conference?”
Marshall didn’t answer right away, then he said, “Sorry. I’m drinking a carbonated lemon-lime thing. Conference was great. Learned some new techniques for reconstructing a female’s missing breast. God, but I hate to see a woman lose a breast.”
“Well, it’s not the same as a man having his d**k removed.”
Marshall’s laugh seemed forced. Why is this man calling me? Bond asked himself.
“Speaking of missing things, I hear you had a bad thing happen with your fancy red Jeep.”
“What?”
“Someone sliced through your brakes.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Rumors fly like bats out of a cave when the sun goes down in this burg.”
He’s fishing
