I stood staring. There was a padded white table in the center of the room. At one end stood two floodlamps on tall tripods. Glittering instruments were laid out on a small table. On a stand beside the operating table lay scalpels, sutures, heavy curved needles. There was a finely made saw, like a big hacksaw, and heavy snippers. On the floor beneath the table was a large galvanized steel wash tub.
I didn't understand this; I turned to the door—and heard footsteps approaching.
I looked around, saw a door, jumped to it and jerked it open. When the two men entered the room, I was standing rigid in the darkness of the storeroom, with the door open half an inch.
The floodlights flicked on, then off again. There was a rattle of metal against metal.
"Lay off that," a nasal voice said. "This is all set. I checked it over myself."
"They're nuts," Nasal-voice said. "Why don't they wait until morning, when they got plenty sunlight for this? No, they gotta work under the lights."
"I don't get this deal," a thin voice said. "I didn't get what was supposed to be wrong with this guy's legs, they got to take them off. How come if he's—"
"You ain't clued in, are you, Mac?" Nasal-voice said harshly. "This is a big deal; they're going to ring this mug in when they knock off the Old Man."
"Yeah, that's what I mean," Thin-voice cut in. "So what's the idea they take off the legs?"
"You don't know much, do you, small-timer?" Nasal-voice said. "Well, listen; I got news for you." There was a pause.