THE HATED
By PAUL FLEHR
After space, there was always one more river to cross ... the far side of hatred and murder!
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
The bar didn't have a name. No name of any kind. Not even an indication that it had ever had one. All it said on the outside was:
Cafe
EAT
Cocktails
which doesn't make a lot of sense. But it was a bar. It had a big TV set going ya-ta-ta ya-ta-ta in three glorious colors, and a jukebox that tried to drown out the TV with that lousy music they play. Anyway, it wasn't a kid hangout. I kind of like it. But I wasn't supposed to be there at all; it's in the contract. I was supposed to stay in New York and the New England states.
Cafe-EAT-Cocktails was right across the river. I think the name of the place was Hoboken, but I'm not sure. It all had a kind of dreamy feeling to it. I was—
Well, I couldn't even remember going there. I remembered one minute I was downtown New York, looking across the river. I did that a lot. And then I was there. I don't remember crossing the river at all.
I was drunk, you know.