He took a bite, like he was a hyena on a gazelle’s neck.
He wasn’t a hyena, he was a guy who ran a loosely knit consortium of cellphone repair and accessory shops, a hookah bar and part of a strip club.
He wasn’t biting into a hoofed mammal, he was biting into a pastry carefully constructed by a girl on her first day at the Satin Patisserie inside the Gold Dust Casino.
To a stranger he might have looked like a guy who had cocaine dust on his lapel, and at times in his life he had had cocaine dust on his lapel and in various other places.
But Kevin Kroncaj rarely did cocaine anymore, and he never ate fancy pastries.
Ilana Christou had suggested them, so Kevin said yes.
She also suggested some coffee drink with a name that sounded more like a resort in the Bahamas and whipped cream tall enough for a gerbil to ski down, and it twisted Kevin’s guts so bad he had to excuse himself to the men’s room.
The trip was generally unpleasant anyway, but while there he was pinged by Ollie Sanchez.
As he wiped, his phone resting on top of the black plastic toilet paper caddie instead of the bottom of the bowl where he had almost-almost-thrown it, Kevin thought about all the plans he had for himself and Ilana.
Thought about all the genuine affection and primal lust he had for her, and had for years.
But Ollie had sent video. Video of Michael Christou asking his sister
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