"Worse'n that. But thanks anyway ... I guess."
She was laughing heartily as she disconnected.
Hanlon groaned with the utter misery of a hugely-distorted, throbbing head. The sunlight pouring through an open window directly into his eyes did not help any. He rolled over petulantly, but knew he had to get up.
He stumbled out of bed and went in to stand under a cold shower. Ten minutes later he began to feel a little more human, and decided maybe he would live after all.
"Never again!" he swore fervently. "I'm just not cut out for serious drinking. Hope I didn't give anything away to those guys last night."
He dressed slowly, meanwhile striving as best his aching head would let him, to review his situation. He was fairly well pleased with his success to date, but the grue of fear was still with him. He was getting part way where he wanted to be, but ... this was certainly no picnic he was muscling into. He remembered his father's injunction to take it easy at first, and grimaced wrily.
Eating breakfast in the hotel dining room, after taking an effervescent to relieve his headache, he tried to plan his next moves. There wasn't much he could do, he decided, until they called him. He had made his bid—it wouldn't do to try to push himself too much, or it would look mighty fishy to those sharp minds.
He shuddered again, involuntarily, thinking about that enigmatic leader. Who ... or what ... was he?
Hanlon went first to the bank, and made out a card for his own box. But once in the vault, and the attendant gone out, it was box 1044 he opened. There was a note for him.
"Welcome to Simonides," he read. "My name—here—is Art Georgopoulis. I work at present as a bartender at the Golden Web, on Thermopylae street. The high-ups in the underworld hang out there, and I pick up occasional bits of news. If you come in, introduce yourself by asking for 'a good old Kentucky mint-julep,' Practically no one ever asks for those. I'm the blond, skinny one at the far end of the bar. If I can be of any help, just yell. Me, I haven't got to first check station yet—but I'm still in there punching. Hope you do better—Curt Hooper."