openly and often, long before anybody asked them. There were other men in the bar who didn’t remember whether Max had been there or not, but those four remembered. They’d remember anything Max wanted remembered.”
Her eyes got large and then narrowed to black-fringed slits. She leaned toward me, upsetting her glass with an elbow.
“Peak Murry was one of the four. He and Max are on the outs now. Peak might tell it straight now. He’s got a pool room on Broadway.”
“This MacSwain, does he happen to be named Bob?” I asked. “A bowlegged man with a long jaw like a hog’s?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“By sight. What does he do now?”
“A small-time grifter. What do you think of the stack-up?”
“Not bad. Maybe I can use it.”
“Then let’s talk scratch.”
I grinned at the greed in her eyes and said:
“Not just yet, sister. We’ll have to see how it works out before we start scattering pennies around.”
She called me a damned nickel-nurser and reached for the gin.
“No more for me, thanks,” I told her, looking at my watch. “It’s getting along toward five a.m. and I’ve got a busy day ahead.”
She decided she was hungry again. That reminded me that I was. It took half an hour or more to get waffles, ham and coffee off the stove. It took