He poured it into a king-size highball glass and took it over to his chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he liked a slightly sweet long drink.
He sat down in the chair, picked up the book and scowled at the cover. He ought to be reading that Florentine history of Machiavelli's, especially if the Boss had got to the point where he was quoting from the guy. But the heck with it, he was on vacation. He didn't think much of the Italian diplomat of the Renaissance anyway; how could you be that far back without being dated?
He couldn't get beyond the first page or two.
And when you can't concentrate on a Western, you just can't concentrate.
He finished his drink, went over to his phone and dialed Department of Records and then Information. When the bright young thing answered, he said, “I'd like the brief on an Ernest Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, Baltimore section of Greater Washington. I don't know his code number.”
She did things with switches and buttons for a moment and then brought a sheet from a delivery chute. “Do you want me to read it to you, sir?”
“No, I'll scan it,” Larry said.
Her face faded to be replaced by the brief on Ernest Self.
It was astonishingly short. Records seemed to have slipped up on this occasion. A rare occurrence. He considered requesting the full dossier, then changed his mind. Instead he dialed [pg 024] the number of the Sun-Post and asked for its science columnist.
Sam Sokolski's puffy face eventually faded in.