Solomon said as Dale and Harry sat down in the living room with their strongest drinks of choice to talk about what had happened during the last few days. Solomon, a man no younger than seventy-five, was lanky and tall, with a shock of gray hair. He stood nearly a foot taller than Dale and was easily thirty years his senior. “Have you any enemies, Mister D’Amour?” he asked. “I lost count before I graduated high school,” Harry said. “Really now?” Dale said, a hint of arousal in his manner. “Well, that settles it,” Solomon continued. “Something followed you down here and decided to have you murdered while you were away from your usual protectors.” “Protectors?” “The folks in your life who know who you really are,” Dale offered. “I guess that would be Caz and Norma.” “That’s it?” said Solomon. “You don’t trust a lot of people, do you?” “Most of the people I used to trust aren’t around anymore.” “Oh, honey,” Dale said. “I’ll be your friend.”
