.”“Besides, he’s dead.” She pointed out.“I know that! I was meaning generically.”“No.”“Oh”There was a pause.“Still hard?” She enquired.“Like granite.”She laughed at his honesty “So, fancy coming back to mine then?”He looked down at his basket, empty except for the issue of ‘Muscles Monthly’ and the few items in hers “What, after we’ve shopped?” She looked at him as though he was mad and he hastily changed his mind “Err, fuck the shopping?”She smirked “Fuck the shopping.” Turning, she dumped her basket on the newspaper stand. Frank nervously looked around, still trying to spot the cameras and waiting for some obnoxious shit to jump out wielding a microphone. Slipping a slender arm through his, she headed towards the store entrance/exit. Feeling guilty, frank hastily dropped his basket on a stack of Independents that had obviously failed to sell.The security guard glared at them as they left. Frank could not meet the guard’s gaze, as he projected the perfect aura of guilt. The security. " His head dropped back down to concentrate on his work."Huh?" was my intelligent response.He looked at me like I have five eyes and then smiled. "I suppose you didn't know that I'll lend you a car to get here, as long as you don't take the same car two days in a row, and don't crack it up." Uh ... no ... I mean ... I didn't know," I stammered. "But thanks ... that's great ... thanks." OK kid, but don't go getting any ideas about the cars in the front row. Understood?" Yes ... Yes of course. Thank you! That's really great." I was really surprised and delighted with this turn of events.I was about to head off to find my contact when I suddenly realized I couldn't remember his name. "What was the name of the guy I was supposed to see?" Marty Coulson! He's in the shop. Now get to work, OK?" Yes sir ... and thanks again," I said more confidently as I headed for the shop.I introduced myself to Marty. I could tell he was a mechanic, based on the greasy overhauls he wore and the unlit cigar.
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