The manager heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his boot tops. “All right, Lam, how much?”
“For what?”
“For everything. A complete release.”
“I couldn’t set a price.”
“You’re crazy. You probably work for ten dollars a day. Fifty dollars would square everything. You—”
“You heard what Bertha told the officer.”
“I’ll make it a hundred, even money.”
I got up and smoothed my clothes down. The nickels in each of my side pockets sagged the cloth of the coat. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Harvey Breckenridge. I want you to understand, Lam, there’s nothing personal about this. When you’re running a place such as we run, we have to contend with—”
I shoved my right hand out at him. “All right, Mr. Breckenridge, no hard feelings. After all, it’s just a matter of business. I’ll have my lawyer get in touch with your lawyer.”