Today’s New York “scenery” is less scenic and more… geographic. There is a long story about my weird tendency for my fiction to land splat in the middle of my reality, but I’ll save that for another time. In the meantime, come with me to Toby’s work space where Emmett meets one of the quirky constants in Toby’s life:
Emmett: You still have my hat.
Toby: Oh. Shit. I do. I meant to bring it today.
Toby: Is there any way you can come and get it? I’m in my office. 520 8th Ave between 36th and 37th.
Emmett: Stay put. I’m on my way over.
The desk clerk at Toby’s building couldn’t have been more than twenty
years old. Announcing visitors seemed to make him feel important. “Tobias, there’s a tall-and-good-looking down here asking to see you.” He sported a green pompadour and more rouge than Anita Mann had worn during her entire tenure at Eclipse.
Toby’s laugh snapped through the staticky speaker. “How good-looking?”
“Dimples. Green eyes like an Irish hillside. Dapper-as-fuck cane. He seems a little skittish though.”
“Send Mr. Henderson on up, please.”
The young man handed Emmett a key card. “You’ll need it for the elevator. Number 825. Don’t break him, sweetheart. He’s a favorite around these parts.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is. I’ll be gentle.”
“Oh God, you are precious… ”
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To those who have already read Black Dust, thank you so much! If you could take a few moments of time and review it on goodreads or amazon, I’d appreciate it more than I can say. If writing a review gives you the hives (it does me; I’m horrible at them), just click the number of stars you think it deserves. It all helps.