October 22, 2012 by peterhochstein
Sylvia saw the press badge pinned to my lapel and pushed one of her leaflets into my hand. I scanned it with some genuine interest. It was a list of famous actors and politicians that she believed the Russians had poisoned. Sylvia sensed her publicity opportunity and pounced.
“They’re killers!” she said to me. “They’re a bunch of Lucretia Borgias! Thank God I’m exposing them!”
“How do they do all this poisoning?” I asked Sylvia.
“With secrets agents, all over the world,” she explained to me. “They pose as waiters in restaurants, and if somebody on their list comes in, they get poisoned with the restaurant food.”
I asked her, “How do you know this?”
“Because they poisoned me!” said Sylvia Krauss.
“But you’re still here, you’re still alive,” I said. “So they couldn’t have killed you.”
“Oh yes they could,” she insisted. “Fortunately, I realized I had been poisoned. So right there in the restaurant, as fast as I could, I stuck my finger down my throat and threw up.”
“On the floor?”
“On the tablecloth,” Sylvia Kaus said proudly. “They’re not going to get me.”
Who was Sylvia Kraus? And what ever became of her?
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