“Right. You’d better take a walk in the other direction to keep the dick occupied, and don’t look back.”
He wanted to shake hands to show his appreciation, but that would have been just as bad as taking the twenty, since before another midnight Wolfe might be tagging him for murder, so I pretended not to notice. He headed east, and I headed west, moving right along without turning my head for a glimpse of the dick. I had to make sure that he didn’t see a vision and switch subjects, but I let that wait until I got to Christopher Street. Reaching it, I turned the corner, went twenty feet to a stoop, slid behind it with only my head out, and counted a slow hundred. There were passers-by, a couple and a guy in a hurry, but no dick. I went on a block to Grove Street, passed the intersection, saw no loitering female, continued for a distance, and turned and backtracked. I was on the fifth lap, and it was eight minutes past twelve, when a taxi stopped at the corner, a woman got out, and the taxi rolled off.
I approached. The light could have been better, but she seemed to meet the specifications. I stopped and asked, “Jones?” She drew herself up. I said, “From Victor.”
She tilted her head back to get my face. “Who are you?” She seemed a little out of breath.
“Victor sent me with a message, but naturally I have to be sure it reaches the right party. I’ve ante’d half of your name and half of his, so it’s your turn.”
“Who are you?”
I shook my head. “You go first, or no message from Victor.”
“Where is he?”
“No. I’ll count ten and go. One, two, three, four—”
“My name is Jewel Jones. His is Victor Talento.”