7.b.iv.
Franklin Buck
was sweating. He wished he still had
that beach towel. Then he could wipe his
dripping forehead or fashion some sort of head wrap to collect all this perspiration. The sweat that came with all this running.
He streaked
down bejeweled corridors, with gilded molding.
The gems were, most certainly, foil-backed faceted plastic and the gold
probably cheap spray paint. He’d learned
that much.
Behind him, in
full pursuit, was a band of heavily armed guards with shiny scimitar
swords. The personal guard of the
Nigerian Prince. Why scimitars?
All this
trouble for simply trying to help. Franklin
gritted his teeth and the ache in his side worsened.
He never
should have accepted that check!
