The crudely but colorfully painted image that accompanied the words made it clear the half fish, half voluptuous nude blonde woman in question was blowing bubbles or spouting breath like a sounding whale. “Classy,” Mildred said. “Needs must when the devil drives,” Doc murmured. “That’s so encouraging,” she said. “Anybody got any better ideas?” Ryan’s tone suggested he was addressing the group as a whole. Mildred couldn’t help noticing how his lone blue eye fixed on her for just a moment—and pierced like a blue laser. “Thought not,” he said with a shrug, and pushed inside. The smell of spilled beer, sweat and ganja smoke hit Mildred in the face like a sandbag as she stepped up to the door. Inside was dark, hot and humid. The conversation was boisterous enough that it actually overwhelmed the out-of-tune piano in the corner.
