Grady said. The conversation had moved from Milch’s room down to the cantina. Grady was stretched out on top of the bar with a cigarette extending up from his mouth like a smoldering antennae and his hands crossed over his chest like a corpse. Milch had changed clothes, opting for a pair of jeans and a brown chambray shirt unbuttoned to the navel. He had replaced his bandage with a blue-and-green paisley bandana, which gave him the look of someone who shops the Keith Richards collection at Urban Outfitters. “Sure. I followed Thandy after he left my house,” Milch said. He reached for the pot of Maxwell House, and Digby, who had been brewing it, slapped his hand away. Milch put up his hands defensively and took a seat on top of the broken cooler. “He was having dinner at this swanky place down the beach. Kept the manuscript with him while he ate. Easy pull. Called the hostess and asked for Thandy. Swiped the case when he went to answer the phone.”
What do You think about The Hemingway Thief (2016)?
