He was big and belligerent with a face that Attila the Hun would have envied. His name was Mackenzie York, and he wanted me to do a stakeout on his ex-wife. I wasn't keen; I mean how did I know he wasn't some crazed maniac who was going to go in and shoot her in a jealous rage? "Is that what I look like?" he said, "a maniac?" Actually he looked like an ex-prize fighter who should've ducked a little more. I can't tell you why I went along with it. Mac York looked like someone who played too much poker with the guys and told too many locker room jokes. Furthermore he smoked cigars and wore clothes that looked like they'd been through the wringer backwards. All I can say is seeing him there in my office, all of a sudden an evening curled up with my bird call tapes didn't seem so appealing.
