Who knows what would draw Alex Dixon back here. Couldn’t blame him if he didn’t come back, though. The local police and media had given him a real...y hard time. I wondered if his parents still lived in the two-storey brick house with the Victorian veranda at 220 Adair Street. I wondered if they still kept in touch with him secretly and knew where he was but had never said. I’d pay them a visit, too. That’s the trouble with small towns. Everybody likes to know everybody else’s business. The sun. .. do you want to fuck me now? Because if you’re Dictator ... well, there’s no one to overrule you, is there? I’d better be on your good side first, right? If my bosses don’t like me fucking my interviewee in this case, they can piss off ... or kiss my ass!” the reporter, an Irishwoman named Fíadh O’Mellan, now pressed her case to me, not that I was likely to resist her charms.For one thing, fucking a TV journalist on a live broadcast, with the camera crew forced to act as my personal. More

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