CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Straight to the Heart

Kaminski’s assistant poured snifters of Black label all around. He dispensed generously. The level of the full liter bottle was only half full when he capped. I rolled the straight booze around in my glass, and then sniffed, as if to inhale the bouquet of a fine red wine.

“Fine whiskey,” I boasted, holding the huge glass out, then taking an infinitely small sip.

I put the snifter down on to the chess table. The whiskey I left behind would be put to good use.