don’t make jokes,” the other man said. He had hair the color and texture of a stoat’s pelt, and there was so much green in his complexion that he looked half-dead.
“That’s Leon,” Carmine said. “Don’t mind him; he’s got no sense of humor.”
“Carmine, Leon – fine, we’ve been introduced,” I said. They both wore sharkskin suits and ties that were meant to be fashionable but were simply loud. “Now what are you doing in my apartment?”
“Delivering the chinks,” Carmine said, handing me a large, warm brown bag. I could smell the stir-fried chilies and fresh cilantro.
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