Game of Death
He’d put too many noses out of joint. Upset too many people who shouldn’t be getting upset. Jacques watched from the shade of an overhanging spruce as the wiry drug dealer with leatherette skin concluded his deal with the slim yet shapely oriental who had, as expected, answered the door.
She smiled but her eyes betrayed her anxiety as they flitted around the vicinity watching for the twitch of a bush or perhaps someone skimming a newspaper with little interest in the news. Paps would stop at nothing to get a shot of this. He was big news now. The biggest. But he’ll be bigger news tomorrow.
Jacques remained still as the pusher sauntered to his place under the tree. They exchanged no words as Jacques handed over the other fifty percent of their bargain. Leatherette sauntered off drawing on a straw-thin joint.
Tomorrow, Jacques thought, the headlines will mourn the loss of the legend Bruce Lee. Tomorrow, those people upset by Lee, will be elated. Super fit, now super dead! and Jacques can add another name to his list.
’70 had been a good year for sensational killings but now, with Lee, he reckoned ’73 might top it. Who Next? Neruda.