He had him, Stan thought.
"Be careful how you handle the suitcase and under no circumstances drop it—you'd be damned sorry if you did."
The little man drained his glass of wine. "When do I get my quid?"
"When we deliver the suitcase. Tomorrow."
The little man shivered and stood up.
"All right, I'll do it." He sidled past Tanner and stopped at the edge of the table. "Your eyes, guv'nor," he said suddenly, looking at Stan. "I swear to the Almighty, they're 'angman's eyes!"
Hangman's eyes.
Somewhere, someplace, Stan mused, he had thought that about somebody else. About Fred Tanner.
But he couldn't remember where it had been, or when.
Tanner fumbled in his wallet and gave the heavy man sitting next to him, a bill. "Reynolds, order up some more wine and see if they have any sandwiches, will you?" After Reynolds had left, he turned to Stan. "How many will this make?"