Dead to the World

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I can probably explain why I got so upset about Howler Browne’s troubles if I tell you that in our case it was a little different than the usual relationship between the owner of a road house and the gent who plays his piano. After I was out of the Army a year and still not getting anywhere, he took me on out of hunger, and also because twice while we were both working for Uncle Sugar, I pulled details for him so he could sweeten up a dish he had located in Naples.

He hadn’t talked much about this club he owns, the Quin Pines, and after he met me on the street in Rochester and I told him my troubles and he took me on and drove me out there, I was agreeably surprised to see a long low building about two hundred feet back from the highway, with five enormous pines along the front of it. It looks like class and a high cover charge. It is. It pulls the landed gentry out of their estates and loads them up with the best food and liquor in the East. And the Howler makes a fine thing out of it.

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