“Ashbury,” she said.
“All right, have it your own way.”
She said, “What’s your real moniker?”
“John Smith.”
“You’re a liar.”
I laughed.
She tried a little wheedling. “All right, John.” She twisted around, drew up her knees, and slid over across my lap so she was lying on one elbow, looking alluringly up into my face.
“Listen, John, you’ve got sense. You and I could team up and make something out of this.”
I didn’t look at her eyes. The colour of her hair kept fascinating me.
“Are you in or not?”