One of those people was Jackie, the manager of this bar.“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue or is ya scared?” She taunted me. The bar starte... clucking. A half dozen or so people clucking.“Alright peanut gallery, knock it off. You got me, where’s Jackie?”Emma smiled. Jackie walked out of the kitchen. The bar started laughing.“I’m sorry,” Emma said laughingly, “It was Jackie’s idea.”“I was thinking what the fuck, psycho, right up until you said Jose.” I laughed, “Then it all hit and I started. Long, greasy looking hair that looked to be falling out haphazardly,, chewed fingernails, scruffy face that looked as though it hadn't seen a razor since the first Clinton Administration. What the fuck did my classy wife see in this asshole, if it was indeed my classy wife?They had hung up, agreeing on the Mongolian grill out by the mall as their next rendezvous spot. They could be a little less discrete, since as far as Rika knew I would be heading up to Seattle tomorrow. I hadn't had a chance. More

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