CHAPTER ONE
THE BOYS, WHO had come to see Vessi die, were lined up before the bar. They were putting up a good front, but they were all scared sick.
I came into the bar just when the liquor was hitting them. When they saw me, they let out a groan.
“For Gawd’s sake, look who’s here,” Barry shouted. “The nine days’ sensation himself.”
Barry Hughson was a good guy, but he’d got plenty of gristle mixed with his brains. I just called for a rye and gave them a grin. “H’yah, boys,” I said, waving my hand. “I bet some of you’re goin’ to change your tune mighty soon.”
They didn’t like that crack, and gathered round looking tough. Hughson poked me in the chest with his forefinger. That’s a thing I love. Some guy poking me in the chest. Barry was tight, so I let it slide.
“Listen, Bud,” he said, screwing up his eyes to get my face in focus, “this little business is by invitation only. You don’t stand a chance. Be a nice lad an’ scram.”
I belted the rye and showed him my card. “You boys ain’t the only guys,” I said. “I’m with you all the way.”
Hackenschmidt of the Globe pushed his hat to the back of his head, “How d’you pull these quick ones?” he asked, his fat face looking like a startled Dutch cheese. “You ain’t got any standin’ around here, but you’re always in on the right things.”
I nodded. “I know,” I said, “it’s tough, but there it is… better to be early than late, as the airline hostess said to the passenger.”