These brittle boys weren’t even no-towners. If only. They had home,
and they had mission, and they were carrying the latter out.
A dangerous gang:
knights working for a Crown or a Pin. Balkey kept staring through
the waves of shock, saw the gang take the dolls into Coral’s,
front-door walking and everything. It was early; no door man
had to be there, (Balkey’s shift was later), but there was gooey,
mean Maskhead opening doors and ushering them in quicklike,
with plenty of side-eye and head shaking. No eye on our Balkey,
though – too well hidden in the shade across the way was he.
He took off as the door clanged, made a wide route around the
street, took to the alleys behind Coral’s, went to the club hole
in the wayback, just cuz he knew where it was, who’d be behind it.