New Orleans is that about an hour ago the room clerk tipped me that someone had come by asking for me. A squat, heavyset man wearing a vested suit, topcoat, and British bowler. A man with wide shoulders and a barrel chest.
The clerk kept his mouth shut (he says!), but it doesn’t make any difference; that guy will be back.
And he‘11 find me wherever I go; I know that. But the next time things will be different. Remember when you told me readers like a nice, tidy ending to a novel:
I’m going to tidy this one up.
The next place I go to, I’m going to let Antonio Rossi find me.
And then I’m going to kill that son of a bitch. Love, Jan
