Suckers - J.A. Konrath

“You work for Roy Garbonzo.”
“An excellent deduction, sir. A drink?”
“Uh—whiskey, rocks.”
“Would you care to have it in the parlor, sir, or would you prefer to remain squatting in the
Neidersachen?”
“I thought it was a hydrangea.”
“It’s a hydrangea Neidersachen, sir.”
“It’s pretty,” I said. “But I think I’ll take that drink inside.”
“Very good, sir.”
I extricated myself from the Neidersachen, brushed off some clinging leaves, and followed
Jeeves through the tiled foyer, through the carpeted library, and into the parlor, which had wood
floors and an ornate Persian rug big enough to park a bus on.
“Please have a seat, sir. Mr. Garbonzo will be with your shortly. Were you planning on
shooting him?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re holding a gun, sir.”
I glanced down at my hand, still clenched around my Magnum.
“Sorry. Forgot.”
I holstered the .44 and sat in a high backed leather chair, which was so plush I sank four
inches. Waddles returned with my whiskey, and I sipped it and stared at the paintings hanging on
the walls. One in particular caught my interest, of a nude woman eating grapes.
“Admiring the Degas?” a familiar voice boomed from behind.
I turned and saw Happy Roy the vicious misogynist psycho, all five foot two inches of him,
walking up to me. He wore an expensive silk suit, but like most old men the waist was too high,
making him seem more hunched over than he actually was. On his feet were slippers, and his
glasses had black plastic frames and looked thick enough to stop a bullet.
“Her name is Degas?” I asked. “Silly name for a chick.”
He held out his hand and I shook it, noticing his knuckles were swollen and bruised.
“Degas is the painter, Mr. McGlade. My business advisors thought it was a good investment.
Do you like it?”
“Not really. She’s got too much in back, not enough up front, and her face is a double-
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