Michael Malone - Weebly

saw that their memories couldn't place. They had the
same eyes, except hers were a slightly paler blue.
"Chin Lam sent you, huh? I told her no way I was
going to deal with that dip public defender the state
tried to fasten on me. She got you, huh?" Maynard
Henry sat down, hunched forward in the starched blue
shirt that stuck out in creases from his shoulders and
arms. His eyes ferreted over Abernathy, over the
summer suit, the watch, the faded calfskin of the old
briefcase, gold-stamped with initials. Then the pale
lashes twitched. "How? How'd she get you?"
"I haven't actually had an opportunity to speak with
your wife yet," Winslow replied in his quiet, flat accent.
"She talked with someone who then asked me if I
would look into things." From his pocket he took an
unopened pack of cigarettes, which he slid casually
across the table toward the prisoner. "I could give her a
message."
"Where's Chin? What do you mean, talk to who?
Why didn't she come herself?"
"Isn't the best thing not to get her here, but you