The Taste Of Fear

The Taste of FearAfter coffee-and-danish in the studio commissary Pollock walked back, past the sound stages in a jagged transverse, to his office in the Security Bungalow. He sat at a desk centered between two windows in what had once been a dressing room for actors. A large make-up mirror rimmed with naked light bulbs faced the door, so that anybody who entered saw his own reflection first.There was time to kill. He listened to the jets streaking from Lockheed to the Mojave testing corridor, t...