‘Have a butt, pally,’ he went on taking out a pack of Lucky Strike. He took one and tossed the pack to me. ‘What’s it like—in that mine?’ he asked, lighting his cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke down his short thick nose.
‘Not the kind of place you’d pick for a vacation,’ I said, lighting a cigarette and tossing the pack back to him. ‘It’s full of man-eating rats.’
His small eyes bugged out
‘Rats? I heard there were rats, but I didn’t believe it.’ He squinted down at his cigarette. ‘See any reefers while you were in there?’
‘About a couple of million of them. I didn’t stop to count them, but that’s a conservative guess.’
He grinned, showing small, broken teeth.
‘Jeepers! As many as that, huh? I told her that’s where he kept the stuff, but she wouldn’t have it. How are they packed?’
‘In boxes. Who is she?’
He scowled at me.
‘I’m the guy who asks the questions, pally. You answer them.’