“I will inquire among friends,” he said in his liquid half-French accent. “I think they may talk more freely if I am alone.”
“Sure.”
“I can promise nothing. But you have been a good friend. I myself might have been in trouble, save that you have a large heart.”
“I know when a man is really honest, Tadross.”
“Yes. So I will do what I can.”
He went into the coffee shop next door. I smoked and inspected glass jars of strange vegetables in a store window — They looked like vegetables; they may have been cuttlefish for all I know.
After a minute, Tadross came out, sluff-sluffed up Washington Street in his slippers. I lost sight of him.
It was fifteen minutes before he came back. His face was solemn.
“I can tell you,” he said slowly, “though I have made a falsehood by saying I would not do this.”
“You have to do those things sometimes.”