“I’d like you to meet my friend, Sharon,” Suzanne said.
Gregson shook her hand. It felt like a tightly-wound rubber band that might snap at any moment.
“Charmed.” He went to kiss it, but Sharon yanked her hand away.
She reached into her pocket for some hand-sanitizer, and rubbed thoroughly.
Her spiky-silver-hair reminded Gregson of a porcupine.
“Let’s see… who else should I introduce you to?” Suzanne asked.
Gregson spotted a pale-looking woman with wrinkles who reminded him of Darth Vader, after he takes off his mask.
“Oh—that’s my friend Robin.” Suzanne introduced him. “Gregson is a real detective.”
“Really?” Robin asked. “I just love Agatha Christie.”
Gregson got a disgusting taste in his mouth. “Do you have a bathroom?”
“Sure. Down the hall and to the left,” Suzanne said.
When Gregson got inside, he spit into the sink. Then he took a swig from his hip flask, and gargled with whiskey.
When he came out, he noticed a card game going-on at the table across from the living room.
“What are they playing?” Gregson asked.
“Poker. But you don’t want to get into that game,” Suzanne said.
“They’re sharks.” Suzanne looked Gregson up and down. “Private detective or not, they’ll eat you alive. That’s Billie at the far-end of the table.”
She had wild green eyes, with veins popping out around her eye-sockets. She looked crazy. Gregson liked that.
An older woman, wearing a flower dress, with short-cut hair, looked as if she had lesbian qualities.
“That’s Jeanne. She grew-up on a farm. She doesn’t say much,” Suzanne said.