I didn't need a fix. I'd been off the junk for three months and I was all right. I was drinking a lot, but that was all.
The meet in the cafeteria was set up by an old connection of mine who'd heard I was interested in this new stuff. My connection's name was Rollo, sometimes called Rollo the Roller because he rolled lushes in the subway.
Rollo and I had coffee while we waited for The Man.
"He's a funny one," Rollo said. "Not like any other pusher I ever dig."
"You sure he's straight?" I asked. "He wouldn't be one of The People, would he?"
"Nah, he's no agent. Don't you think I can make a cop or a Federal by now?"
"All right. I wasn't trying to insult you."
We sipped our coffee and talked in low voices. The cafeteria wasn't a regular joint. It might be in time, and then it would be one till it got too hot, but it wasn't now.
I didn't see the guy come in. The first thing I knew he was standing at the table over us. Tall, wearing a black suit like an undertaker or a preacher, but with a dark blue shirt and a white tie. He had a young-old face and his skin was a light tan. Not the tan you get at Miami Beach or from a sun lamp, but as if he had Chinese or Malay blood in him somewhere.
Rollo jumped a little when he noticed him at his elbow.