“Different ones. Folks buyin’ private. Peewee he’d telephone folks he knowed was buyin’ and they’d drive out and leave their cars a-standin’. When they come ag’in, there’d be the whisky. They wouldn’t never see who put it there.”
“Who did you sell to?”
“I don’t want to tell.”
“You’ve got to tell.”
He moaned, and then, surrendering utterly, gave her a list of his customers.
“Who did you pay money to?” she asked.
“Peewee.”
“Anybody else?”
“Jest him.”
“Who else did you see at the Lakeside Hotel when you went to get whisky—who else was selling besides Peewee?”