Awakenings

Начало книги

Colby Dretch cleaned out the empties from his office wet bar. Only half a bottle of vodka and a bottle of peach schnapps remained. He threw the clinking bag, along with a valise full of his laundry, into the bathroom and hoped the new clients had good bladders. Once he had folded the bed and threw the pillows into the closet, the place looked almost ready for business. It would be a no-frills meeting.

Carla would be bringing the new clients in any minute. Colby put on a fresh shirt and tie. He tied his knot using the reflection in his office window and surveyed the bustling masses on Third Avenue. An image of dressing up a pig popped into his head; he had to chuckle. While it might hide his varicose veins, no shirt and tie could detract from his dark puffy eyes, thinning hair, gaunt cheeks, pasty pallor, and hawkish nose. He looked like Ichabod Crane on that ill-fated night, and he was only fifty-two. But it was all part of the game.

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