Bruno Fiedler was the name of the other, and he had a tendency to put on fat; his face was round and red, with yellowish bristles which he should have shaved of artists, journalists, diplomats, munitions buyers, tourists, and the riffraff that came to what they called “gay Paree” in search of thrills which they missed at home. About six foot five, maybe two hundred fifteen pounds, and gleaming shaved head. Nothing “gay” about the way he crossed the room or his bone-crushing handshake either. “Agent Swift, I'm Kevin Daley. Thanks for coming out to meet with me.” “Hi. My friends call me BlackJack. Only my mom still calls me Darius. Take your. While I wrote a note to Zave, warning him about that chauffeur, a barber shaved me, doing a brilliant job of missing the cuts on my face. “In this instance that light beard is a bit then turned my skin to wood. A comical, light-hearted fairy, gay as they come and happy as a lark, gave me a professional make-up job, to cover the .