Lefty wasn’t going to have fried clams at this place.
The Howard Johnson’s was pretty much the same as the one on the highway outside Bangor where Lefty had been plenty of times.
He would have had clams up in Maine, but he wasn’t sure about this far south. Something told him to wait until he got home.
Lefty looked over the menu while the waitress stood next to his table. She’d shown him in and parked him near the kitchen and the cigarette machine. He had a good view of the orange peaked roof of the motor lodge.
From LEFTY and the KILLERS
Coming soon.
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