“Mr. Cain?” he said, offering his hand.
“Sure,” I said, and shook hands.
He had a grip like a bear’s, but then so have I. We cracked each other’s bones and pretended we weren’t hurting each other.
He said how pleased he was to meet me, and how he hoped I’d enjoy my stay at Paradise Palms.
I admired his place and told him they had nothing like it in New York. That seemed to please him.
By that time I’d finished my bourbon, and he called the barman.
“Two,” he said. “Take a good look at Mr. Cain because I want you to remember him. Whatever he wants is on the house, including his whole party.”
The barman nodded and gave me a quick up-and-down, and I could tell there wasn’t a chance he would ever mistake me for anybody else.
“All right?” Speratza asked, beaming at me.
“Swell,” I said.