“What did you say your name was?”
“Donald Lam.”
We shook hands.
Carlton said, “Sit down and have a drink, Lam. Might as well. There isn’t anything else to do. The boys are nice to me. Tell me to do anything I want to, go anywhere I want to, just don’t leave town. Every time I leave the damn hotel some cop picks me up and trails along with me.”
“You don’t know when you are lucky,” Sellers said.
“Perhaps not, but I could stand with a little less good luck, if that’s what you call being lucky.”
Sellers said, “You could be behind bars.”
“For what?”
Sellers couldn’t think of the answer to that one.
“I’m the subject of morbid curiosity,” Carlton announced. “I’m the husband of a tramp, a tramp that got caught in the meshes of her own illicit love affair and got killed. Are you married, Lam?”