He was a real looker, the kind the Janes just couldn’t keep their hands off; tall, olive skin, hair somewhere between chestnut and midnight and lots of it. The suit screamed out dough, big time, and the shoes, I’d only seen shoes like that in the swank magazines Brenda looked at from time to time. I’d have said this guy had it all in spades, except for the grin somebody’d carved into his throat from ear to ear.