“You heard me.”“Why would I know your name, mate?”He makes two bold steps toward me.“Don’t call me ‘mate’.”“Oka-a-a-y?” I glance...at Heaven. “How am I supposed to know your name… Sir?”He smirks.“Much better, boy.”Fuck you. And also, sex is on my mind. His jaw… His jaw moves as he speaks:“I gave you my name when I ordered my drink. She wrote it on the cup you discarded. That’s how.”I look down. I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right.“Anything else?” I ask.“So you don’t remember…” his hand goes. I knew he’d ream me for it when I eventually told him, but I’d deal with that when I got home. The last thing I needed was to have him insist on me seeing a physician, which would make a complete mess of my work. And knowing Al, I was sure he had at least one doctor friend in Munich who would show up at the hotel and, if necessary have the German versions of Guido and Luigi drag me to a hospital. Hans and Franz, maybe? I laughed remembering the Saturday Night Live skit. I hadn’t watched too. More

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