"What happened?" said our friend. "What did they do to her?" He seemed very agitated by what he was hearing.
"Do?" said my attorney. "Jesus Christ man. They chopped her goddamned head off right there in the parking lot! Then they cut all kinds of holes in her and sucked out the blood!"
"God almighty!" the Georgia man exclaimed... "And nobody did anything?"
"What could they do?" I said. "The guy that took the head was about six-seven and maybe three hundred pounds. He was packing two Lugers, and the others had M-16s. They were all veterans..."
"The big guy used to be a major in the Marines," said my attorney. "We know where he lives, but we can't get near the house."
"Naw!" our friend shouted. "Not a major!"
"He wanted the pineal gland," I said. "That's how he got so big. When he quit the Marines he was just a little guy."
"O my god!" said our friend. "That's horrible!"
"It happens every day," said my attorney. "Usually it's whole families. During the night. Most of them don't even wake up until they feel their heads going -- and then of course, it's too late."
The bartender had stopped to listen. I'd been watching him. His expression was not calm.
"Three more rums," I said. "With plenty of ice, and maybe a handful of lime chunks."
He nodded, but I could see that his mind was not on his work. He was staring at our name-tags. "Are you guys with the police convention upstairs?" he said finally.
"We sure are, my friend," said the Georgia man with a big smile.
The bartender shook his head sadly. "I thought so," he said. "I never heard that kind of talk at this bar before. Jesus Christ! How do you guys stand that kind of work?"
My attorney smiled at him. "We like it," he said. "It's groovy."
#WHCD2017 – Bernstein mentions deep throat defending propaganda - Just how bad this year’s White House Correspondence Dinner? Carl Bernstein, the old, washed up reporter for the Watergate years,
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