”“You can’t keep slaves anymore, but there’s a chap round Inkerman Street does a smashing range of chastity belts,” he suggested, “Actuall..., tween thee and me, that Lord wi his back to us over there’s got more daughters than you can shake a stick at, why not make him an offer?”I looked, some poncy old codger talking to his mates over a sliver of fish and drop o wine that woudn’t sustain a bloody church mouse.“That’s handy,” I said giving him a big tip and I sauntered across.“I hear you got a. “Yes, Petey,” Melanie said sweetly. “I know this kind of talk makes you uncomfortable.”I asked Pete about his career plans and he filled me in on his thinking. I knew the outline from my talk with the Spencers the other day, but Pete filled in all the details. His primary goal was to work for the US Marshals Service, but he figured he’d probably end up at the FBI. He’d already talked to a recruiter and given his grades, his ability with firearms, and his squeaky-clean past, he had a really good. More

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