He looked at his watch. Six o’clock. He had been waiting two hours at the corner of Peachtree and Edgewood for Beckman and his car. Two empty hours. Enough was enough. He walked back to Monopark 5000 to collect his case. He had managed to secure a place in the hotel car park for Beckman’s pickup, and had left his overnight bag with a receptionist in the lobby. He would simply return to Luxora with the pickup. Too bad if that idiot was waiting at another street corner. In the lobby he picked up his bag. ‘Hope you enjoyed your stay at Monopark 5000,’ the receptionist said. ‘Well…I certainly won’t forget it.’ ‘We won’t forget you either, sir. Come back and see us again.’ ‘We’ll see.’ ‘Excuse me?’ Henderson turned. It was General Dunklebanger, checking out. He looked terrible—worn and harrowed—despite his smart uniform. Oh Jesus, Henderson thought, this is all I need. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about last night,’ Henderson began.
