Joshua Marek swaggered into the room. His minions fell silent. He nodded once in approval. He pointed to a young woman. She might have been just twenty when she had died and she still retained much of her beauty. “Scotch and soda. Rocks,” Marek ordered.
The woman stared at him blankly. He took two steps closer to her and snapped his fingers under her nose. “Now!” he snapped. She turned and wandered in the direction of the bar.
Marek looked at me and laughed. He said, “Good help. You can’t hire it. You can’t raise it from the grave.”