He headed for Jick's, but since there were two other taverns he had to pass on the way, he made a quick stop in each of them. Business was slow in both; there were only a few customers and none of them people he knew. But he knew both bartenders and asked them about Fats. One of them didn't know him at all; the other knew him, but no better than Ray did and didn't come up with anything helpful, even a first name.
Business was slow at Jick's, too, but at least Jick himself was behind the bar. He waited till he'd ordered a drink and Jick had made it for him before he broached the subject.
"Jick, I'm looking for Fats Davis. But I don't know his first name so I can't find him in the phone book. You know how I can get in touch with him? It's important."
"Yeah, I know," Jick said.
"How?"
Jick grinned. "Turn right and walk a dozen steps. He's in the end booth down there."
Ray looked that way. He'd thought the booth was empty, but he realized now that Fats's head wouldn't show over the top of the partition. Fats was almost literally a five-by-five. He wasn't more than two inches over five feet and couldn't have been more than a few inches under five feet around the waist.
"Swell," Ray said. "What's he drinking? I'll take one over to him."
"Straight shots. But go ahead, Ray. I'll bring his drink over."
"Thanks, Jick." Ray picked up his own drink and strolled back. "Hi, Fats," he said. "Can I talk to you a minute?"