The woman behind the desk had the same colour as week-old Wonder Bread.
“If you don’t have an appointment,” she said, “I don’t see how you’ll get in to see him.
Dzinski thought her attitude reminded him of stale bread as well.
“I’ll wait,” he said, walking across the office and sitting on the stiff sofa. He picked up a housekeeping magazine and flipped through the pages. “Besides, I’m feeling lucky. I’ll bet it won’t be too long.”
Her eyes narrowed, concentrated, down the thin ridge of her nose.
“What was the name again?”
“Dzinski,” he said, “Private Investigator”.