ABSTRACT
At “The Golden Buckle,” Clarence Dale, big buyer of bubble wine, went over to Googi’s table. Aside from his breezy assurance which would have taken him anywhere with confidence, he had earned the right to casually drop into a chair beside the number one guy. They were two parallel lines in the palm of Broadway, lavish spenders, easy money boys, wise gazaboes that talked the same language. Googi admired his six-foot build, the way clothes fit him, the ready flow of smart talk from his lips. He knew that Clarence played and lived within the unspoken code, made his money without hard work, tossed it away in wads and let the other guy’s girl alone.
