We entered the club.
“Okay, okay,” Mufalatta said as we walked into the dark stairwell. “Just let me get us to the man,
okay? Let me do that because, see, I think in this case I have a gift f communication which you
don?t.”
“How?s that?” I said.
“Because you?re a thick-headed, fuckin? honky, that?s why, and this man don?t even trust high
yellows.”
“Get us to the man,” I agreed with a nod.
We walked up a short flight of steps to the main floor of the building. It was a cathedraled room with
a pulpit at one end and pews shoved back in a semicircle to form a large dance floor. The room was
tiered. On the second tier there were low-slung tables surrounded by large cushions. The colour
scheme was cardinal red and devil black. Four stereo speakers the size of billboards were booming
against visible sound waves. The music was so loud it hurt my Adam?s apple. Not a ray of sunshine
penetrated the once sacred interior.
Two black giants were sitting in wooden chairs at the top of the stairs. They looked both of us up and
down, then one of them said rather pleasantly, “Sorry, gents, no action till four o?clock.”
“It ain?t that way,” Mufalatta shouted. “We?re here to talk with the man.”
The two giants exchanged grins, then laughed loud enough to drown out the music. One of them
yelled, “What you gonna do, turkey, ask him to boogie?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking out my wallet and letting it fall open to toy buzzer. “Here?s our dance card.”
“Shit,” the Kid said. “There goes diplomatic relations down the fuckin? toilet.”
„The big guy doing the talking looked like I was waving a pretzel at him. He looked at Mufalatta, then
me, trying to put us together, then pointed at me. “You stay right there, both of you,” he said, and to
his partner, “Keep an eye on them.”
He turned and lumbered across the dance floor, up into the shadows. The other giant stood and glared
at us alternately, his eyeballs clicking back and forth. Obviously he was a man who followed orders to
the letter. When you?re that big, you don?t have to think.
There was a minute or two more of musical torture and then the music magically stopped.
“Up here,” Ape One yelled down. “Do them first.”
“On the wall,” Ape Two said. “I?m gonna toss you.”
He patted us down and took a .357 and a switchblade knife away from Mufalatta. All I had that
looked threatening was a nail file, which he studied for several moments.
“It?s a nail file,” I said finally.
