The lighter popped forward. Shayne straightened with the glowing disk in his hand. This voice was husky, too, but not furred with sleep or drink as it had sounded over the telephone.
Shayne said, “Yeh. Expecting me?” He put the lighter to his cigarette.
The man said, “Yeh.” He opened the door and slid into the seat, looking at Shayne curiously. “You’re the private eye? I’ve heard lots about you.”
Shayne leaned forward to replace the lighter. From this lower position he glanced sideways and upward beneath the hat brim. His companion was young and thin-faced with commonplace features and a blond mustache.
Shayne settled back and asked, “What’s all this about ten grand?”
“Ten grand?” The young man laughed nervously. “I wouldn’t know about that. I was just to meet you here, see?” He closed the car door and added in a cautious voice, “You drive west a ways on Seventy-Ninth while I watch to make sure there’re no cops following.”
Shayne took a long drag on his cigarette. “You mean you’re not the man who telephoned me?”
“Gosh, no. I was sitting in this bar, see? There was this man sitting beside me and he asked, did I want to make fifty dollars fast. Well, with me down to my last buck, I says, ‘Sure,’ and then,” he paused, putting his head out the window to look back. “I’m supposed to make sure nobody follows us,” he said nervously. “You’d better start driving toward Little River a ways. Then I take you to him, see?”
Shayne started the motor and swung out into the intersection and west on Seventy-Ninth. “This man who hired you, what does he look like?”
“I dunno,” said his companion vaguely. “Middle-aged, I guess. Broad-shouldered and wearing horn-rimmed glasses.”