Read by Shawn Robertson
Setting: New York City
The entrance outside of the Combination Club was in an alley that looked like a movie set, complete with an always-wet street (courtesy of the leaking hydrant down the block), steam from the cleaners next door, and a neon sign that proclaimed the club’s name. It was located in the Chinatown section of the city on the border of Little Italy so it got what the sports columnists called a ‘colorful’ clientele.
The co-owner, Slugger Harris, a little badger of a man and his silent partner, had just helped some of that ‘colorful’ clientele to leave abruptly; and were standing in that same alley.
“They won’t be thinking of anyone but you any time they look in the mirror for weeks, Slugger,” the partner said in a rich base voice.
The ‘partner’ was a giant of a man, dressed to the nines in a slate gray suit of summer-weight cloth that did little to hide his sculpted muscular physique. In fact, he resembled nothing so much as a sculpture of granite—with skin a pallid gray and prematurely silvered hair brushed back from a high intelligent forehead. All that animated him was a warm smile that went all the way to his eyes.