"Sure," he agreed. "Go ahead. Just be careful. Pal doesn't like a lot of people and he bites whoever he dislikes. Better be careful he gets his regular feeding every day, too. That's four pounds of the best ground steak. He hates everybody if he doesn't get it."
"Yeah?" Pop was not at all friendly now. "Suppose he gets sick?"
"If I don't get him back—and in as good a shape as when he was taken away—I know a couple of good lawyers."
"Lawyers cost money."
"I have a certain amount of influence."
Pop rubbed his chin reflectively and stared at the window. "I suppose you could keep him in your cell if you want to pay for his board."
"I might," Jeff said, knowing he had won this round and that his chance shot had hit the bull's-eye. Obviously, for reasons of his own, Pop did not care to have any lawyers investigating anything. "How good a cell?"
Pop was all brittle now. "If you've been in other cells, you know how good. How old are you?"
"Old enough to land in jail. That tie you're wearing, Pop. It hardly befits the dignity of your position and—"
"I told you not to try to sell anything to me! Maybe, just maybe, we can think up some other charge."