“Yes.”
“Then get him. Bring him up here.”
Saul went. As the three of us sat and waited Mom suddenly asked, “Does your face hurt, Andy?”
I thought of three replies, all good, but settled for a fourth because it was shortest.
“Yes,” I said.
When the outside door opened again I stood up, thinking that the janitor’s arrival would make it two to two, even not counting Mom, and he might be an athlete. But as soon as I saw him I sat down again. He was a welterweight, his expansion would have been not more than half of Madeline’s, and his eyes refused to lift higher than a man’s knees.
“His name’s Tom Fenner,” Saul informed me. “I had to take hold of him.”
I eyed him. He eyed my ankles. “Look,” I told him, “this can be short and simple. I represent an associate of Mr. Rony. As far as I know these people have done no harm here, and I’ll see that they don’t. I don’t like to get people into trouble if I don’t have to. Just show me the hundred bucks they gave you.”
“Jeez, I never saw a hundred bucks,” Fenner squeaked. “Why would they give me a hundred bucks?”
“To get a key to this apartment. Come on, let’s see it.”