A man sat under a lamp, reading a newspaper. He rose to his feet, like the sudden uncoiling of springs.
Russ gasped. That face was one of the best known faces in the entire Solar System. A ratlike face, with cruel cunning printed on it that had been on front pages and TV screens often, but never for pay.
"Scorio!” whispered Russ.
Greg nodded and his lips were drawn tight.
"Stutsman,” said Scorio, surprised. “You're the last person in the world I was expecting. Come in. Have a chair. Make yourself comfortable."
Stutsman snorted. “This isn't a social call."
"I didn't figure it was,” replied, the gangster, “but sit down anyway."
Gingerly Stutsman sat down on the edge of a chair, hunched forward. Scorio resumed his seat and waited.
"I have a job for you,” Stutsman announced bluntly.
"Fine. It isn't often you have one for me. Three-four years ago, wasn't it?"