And Rogers had seen him before.

 

Josh Quentin, he of the VIP room back at the Grunt with his own private room and

pretty ladies who let him stroke their derrieres with abandon.

 

Rogers continued to watch as Quentin and the woman collided about halfway up the

front walk. She kissed him tenderly and in return he grabbed her ass.

 

Such was life, thought Rogers. Mars and Venus.

 

They were already starting to undress each other as they staggered, limb-locked,

up to the front door and then inside.

 

It was pretty obvious what the couple was about to do, and Rogers had no

interest in witnessing it. He sat on his haunches and attempted to think this

through.

 

What was Josh Quentin doing down here? Was this his house?

 

And who was the woman? Was she married to Ballard and this was just a lover

closer to her own age?

 

Rogers rubbed the spot on his head. The sun overhead was hot and that heat was

intensified on the narrow patch on his scalp. He closed his eyes and imagined

what was going on inside his brain right now.