back against the chair. His eyes closed.
Suddenly his head dropped to one side and his tongue fell out. The bills dropped from his hand, one after the other, and lay there crumpled on the red tile floor. A gust of warm spring wind blew dirty pink curtains into the room. The bills rustled across the room and settled at Allerton's feet.
Imperceptibly the Skip Tracer straightened up, and a slit of light went on behind the eyelids.
'Keep that in case you're caught short, Kid,' he said. 'You know how it is in these spic hotels.
You gotta carry your own paper.'
The Skip Tracer leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Suddenly he was standing up, as if tilted out of the chair, and in the same upward movement he pushed the hat back from his eyes with one finger. He walked to the door and turned, with his right hand on the knob. He polished the nails of his left hand on the lapel of his worn glen plaid suit. The suit gave out an odor of mold when he moved. There was mildew under the lapels and in the trouser cuffs. He looked at his nails.
'Oh, uh . . . about your, uh . . . account. I'll be around soon. That is, within the next few. ...' The Skip Tracer's voice was muffled.
'We'll come to some kind of an agreement.' Now the voice was loud and clear. The door opened and wind blew through the room. The door closed and the curtains settled back, one curtain trailing over a sofa as though someone had taken it and tossed it there.
