By Mark Edward Hall
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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“I knew John Lennon back when,” the woman on the barstool said. It was a casual remark, one that would have probably been ignored if John Lennon’s name had not been a part of the mix. Rick Sanchez gave the speaker a sidelong glance. She was okay looking, mid-to late forties, still pretty but a little worn around the edges. She seemed nervous, and fidgety, her index finger patrolling the rim of her martini glass. Not a martini, though, Sanchez could tell by the color that it was a Cosmopolitan, the latest female fad drink.