hands laced up for one second. Parker weaved to the back room. Joan stood up and shoved her way over. She hit a waiter. His drink tray flew. Some Shriners got booze-doused. A whole table, spritzed. A fat man eeked and wiped his face with his fez. Joan hit the door at a sprint. The hinges shook. Parker stood by the Teletype. He held a photostat and a cold beer. He saw Joan and blinked. Joan
