I smiled as Martell snapped open a silver cigarette case. He offered me one. "Menthol?" I queried. "No," he responded. I took two. They were Gaul Oiseaus, the kind of cigarettes that take a day off your life with each puff- two if you french inhale." Well, Pete. You seem to know everything there is to know about Three Hands Washington." Martell inhaled, then released a series of smoke rings toward the ceiling, where they hung in a blue cloud." Yeah, he was one of the greats," he said. I looked into his red-rimmed eyes "was?" He chuckled, then cleared his throat." Yeah. Was. Somebody offed him in an alley with a 357." I took a big gulp of bourbon, and slammed down the empty glass."Interesting, Pete. Very interesting...especially since nobody but the cops know about the weapon." Martell's eyes narrowed, and he stubbed out his smoke. "You know, Madison, you keep sticking your nose in where it don't belong, somebody's gonna cut it off." Funny, the last few words echoed loudly in the room. "Hey," I said, and that echoed as well. I wanted to ask him how the hell he was coming up with the sound effects, but my tongue had suddenly become numb and felt as if it was swollen to about twice it's size. I rubbed my eyes with my fingers, and when I opened them I was staring at a room full of people dining, chatting, but making no sound at all. I laughed and tried to step forward into the room, and that's when something solid hit me in the forehead and I went down. As the lights went out I heard Martell say " Sweet dreams, asshole" and I had the sensation of being dragged feet first across the carpet.