In the downstairs hallway the man with the gun was still there. He said, «Y’ain’t going out, are you, mister?»
Keith grinned at him. «Yes. Got to see a man about a sphere.»
«You mean Mekky? Gonna see Dopelle?» There was awe in the man’s voice. He went to the door, gun ready in his hand. He said, «Well, if you’re a friend of his—and I shoulda guessed it if you were seeing Miss Hadley—maybe you know what you’re doing. I hope so.»
Keith said, «We both hope so.» He slid through the doorway and heard the door slammed and bolted behind him.
He stood there in the utter blackness of the mist-out, and listened. There wasn’t a sound from any direction. He felt his way to the curb and took off his shoes, tying the laces together and hanging them around his neck. Without them on, nobody would be able to hear and stalk him.
He shifted the forty-five automatic to his coat pocket and kept his hand on it.
It was easy, if awkward, to follow the curb line by walking with one foot on the curbing and the other down in the street. The feel of a sewer grating under his foot reminded him of the coins and bills he had to get rid of, the ones dated after nineteen thirty-five. He’d put them back in a different pocket. He shoved them through the grating of the sewer.
With that out of the way, he went on, listening.
Funny, he thought; he wasn’t afraid. Maybe because now, tonight, he was the hunter and not the hunted.
He was three blocks south of where he had turned onto Fifth Avenue before he heard a quarry. Not footsteps—whoever it was either was standing still against the front of a building or else he had, like Keith, taken off his shoes to walk silently. The sound Keith heard was a slight, barely audible sniffle.
He stood very still, scarcely breathing, until he heard it again, and then he knew the man was moving, going south. The second sound had come from that direction.
Keith hurried his steps, almost running, in the direction he’d already been going until he was sure he was well ahead of his victim. Then he cut diagonally across the sidewalk and groped with his hands ahead of him until he came to the building fronts. Then he drew the automatic from his pocket and stood, waiting.
Something bumped into the muzzle of the pistol, and Keith’s left hand darted out and caught the front of a coat to keep the man from pulling away. «Don’t move,» he said sharply, and then, «Turn around, very slowly.»
There’d been no answer but a sharp intake of breath. The man turned. Keith’s left hand groped, crossed over, and pulled a revolver out of a right hip picket. He put it into his own pocket.
He said, «Don’t move, or I’ll shoot. We’re going to talk. Who are you?»
A tight voice said, «What do you care who I am? All I got on me is about thirty credits and that rod. You got the rod. Take the dough too and let me go.»
«I don’t want your thirty credits. I want some information. If I get it straight I might even give your rod back. Do you know your way around here?»
«What do you mean?»
Keith said, «I don’t know the ropes here. I’m from St. Lou. I got to find me a fence.» There was a pause, and the voice was a little less tight now. «Jewelry—or what?» it asked.
«Coins. A few bills, too, pre-thirty-five dollars. Who handles the stuff here?»
«What’s in it for me?»
Keith said, «Your life for one thing. Your gun back. And—if you don’t try to cross me—maybe a hundred credits. Two hundred, if I get a fair price.»
«Peanuts. Make it five hundred.»
Keith chuckled. «You’re in a swell position to bargain. I’ll make it two hundred and thirty. You already got the thirty; consider I took it away from you and gave it back.»
Surprisingly, the man laughed too.
He said, «You win, mister. I’ll take you to see Ross. He won’t cheat you any worse than anybody else would. Come on.»
«One thing first,» Keith said. «Strike a match. I want a look at you. I want to know you again, if you make a break.»
«Okay,» the voice said. It was relaxed now, almost friendly. A match scraped and flared.
Keith’s captive, he saw, was a small, slender man of about forty, not too badly dressed but in need of a shave and with slightly bleary eyes. He grinned, a bit lopsidedly.
«You’ll know me,» he said, «so you might as well have a handle. It’s Joe.»
«Okay, Joe. How far is this Ross guy?»
«Couple blocks. He’ll be in a game.» The match died. «Look, how much worth of stuff you got?»
«Somebody told me ten thousand credits.»
«Then you might get five. Ross is square. But listen—gun or no gun, you’ll do better to cut me in. There’ll be other guys there. We could take you easy.»
«Okay, Joe, maybe you’ve got something there. I’ll cut you in for a fifth—a thousand if we get five thousand. Fair enough?»
«Yeah, fair enough.»
Keith hesitated only a second. He’d need a friend, and there was something in Joe’s voice and there had been something in Joe’s face that made him think he could take a chance. His whole plan—if you could call it that—was a desperate gamble.
Impulsively, he took Joe’s revolver out of his pocket, groped for Joe’s hand, and gave the gun back to him.
But there wasn’t any surprise in Joe’s voice when he said, «Thanks. Two blocks south. I’ll go first.»
They single-filed along the building fronts, locked arms while they crossed two streets. Then Joe said, «Stick close, now. We go back the areaway between the second and third buildings from the corner. Keep your hand on my shoulder.»
Back in the areaway, Joe found a door and knocked—three times and then twice. It opened and light blinded them momentarily. A man at the door lowered a sawed-off shotgun and said «Hi, Joe,» and they went in.
Four men were sitting around a poker table. Joe said to the man who was putting down the shotgun, «Friend of mine from St. Lou, Harry. Got some business with Ross.» He nodded at one of the men at the table, as swarthy, stocky man with cold eyes behind thick lenses. «He’s got coinage, Ross.»
Keith merely nodded and, without speaking, put the coins and bills on the table in front of the stocky man.
Ross examined each one carefully, and then looked up. «Four grand,» he said. «Five,» Keith said. «They’re worth ten.» Ross shook his head. Keith felt a touch on his arm. Behind him, Joe said, «I should have told you. Ross is one-price. If he offers you four grand, he won’t give you four thousand and one. You take it or leave it.»
«And if I leave it?» Keith asked over his shoulder.
«I know a couple more guys. But I’m not sure we can find ’em tonight. And I doubt if they’d do better than Ross.»
Keith nodded. «Okay,» he said, «four grand, if it’s cash and you’ve got it with you.»
«I got it with me.» Ross pulled out a bulging wallet and counted out two thousand-credit notes and twenty hundreds. He folded Keith’s coins carefully inside the bills again and put them in his vest pocket.
«Sit in a while on the game?»
«Thanks, no,» Keith said. Counting the money, he glanced at Joe, who almost imperceptibly shook his head to indicate he didn’t want to take his cut here.
The man who’d let them in picked up the shotgun again before he opened the door to let them out.
Outside, in the blackness again, they moved out of earshot of the door and then Joe said, «A fifth of four thousand’s eight hundred. Want me to light a match so you can count it?»
«Okay—unless you know somewhere we can have a drink and talk a few minutes. We might do some more business.»
«An idea,» Joe said. «A little farther south in this same block. I could use a snort of moonjuice.»