That night, Martha was the one in emotional turmoil, sure that there was something very wrong, just not sure of what.On the other hand, I was asleep a...most immediately, dreaming about a petite, redheaded woman, who was telling me that she was available as often as I want her, and whenever I can find the opportunity. That king-sized mattress sure was comfortable; especially when I was feeling satisfied.The Saturday after Valentine's Day was like most weekends had been in the past year; Martha. “That’s sticky,” I said. “I have an idea, but it’s radical.”“Hit me.”“Did you ever read anything by a guy named Richard Sapir?”“Doesn’t ring a bell.”“I have,” said Doug. “My dad had a bunch of his books. I read them when I was a teenager.”“Tell her,” I said.“They were modern pulp novels, about two guys. One was a white guy, an ex cop who they faked his death, and the other was his mentor, an old Korean master assassin. They worked directly for the president. They were like his secret weapon. More

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