Jonesy could smell the ethery aroma of starter fluid. Almost, Owen thought, as if he knew what was going to happen. None of us did. And this fit night into the tradition, didn't it? My Dad called it that, too.
Two fans of blood and brain-tissue appearing like magic over the heads of Cavanaugh and Bellson in the dim light. Then, the next night, high on whiskey and laughing like hell, Davis had called his enemy on the phone and told him what he had done. ck knows for sure? According to the scuttlebutt, their prime target, Blue Boy, has already been taken out, bu 9Pete got on behind Mr Gray and put his arms around Jonesy's waist.
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