"All right," Wile said. "I sort of expected this. I'll give you five hundred dollars for it."
I took the phone from my face and stared at it, thinking. Talking sounds came from the receiver. I put it back to my ear and said, "Come again? I didn't hear you."
"You heard me all right," Wile said. "Okay, I can get you two thousand dollars from the bank tomorrow. Meet me at eleven o'clock at State and Washington, northeast corner."
"Okay," I said. "Be sure and bring me my wallet."
"I will," he said smoothly. His tone became worried. "Is my wallet in a safe place?"
"Sure," I said, thinking of the spot under the counter where I had slid it with my foot. "You don't need to worry about it at all."
The line was dead. I realized suddenly that he had trapped me into an admission that I had his wallet.
This wasn't the same as a little light finger work on a crowded train, or getting a rubber check chased, or any of the many things I did when the opportunity arose, to pay my rent. Wile didn't just want these poison needles back. He was planning to kill me to keep me quiet. But he wanted the needles and his wallet back too. First.
I thought of Golfin and his reading in the papers that I had been murdered, and it wasn't funny. I locked the door and wedged a chair under the knob. Wile now knew for sure I was the one who had his wallet. He could be on his way down to kill me right now.