Stenhauser tapped the magazine cover with a nervous finger.
‘Business and pleasure,’ he said curtly.
‘No kidding,’ Sloan said. ‘What’s your line?’
‘My line, if you want to call it that, is insurance.’
‘Life insurance, corporate —‘
‘Actually I’m a claims adjuster,’ Stenhauser said, turning his attention back to the magazine
‘No kidding,’ Sloan said enthusiastically. ‘How does that tie in with the art world?’
The little man placed the magazine back on the bar and sighed. ‘I’m a specialist,’ he said. ‘I specialize in recovering stolen art works.’
‘Hey, that sounds interesting. And profitable, right?’ He winked at Stenhauser.
‘Well, I’m not ready to retire yet, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Not yet,’ Sloan said, taking a sip of beer and not looking at him.
Stenhauser’s eyes narrowed. The man was beginning to annoy him. It was almost as if he were prying. Stenhauser studied him. His face was weathered and leathery, he had a small scar under his right eye, his body was square, like a box, and muscular. His charcoal-black hair was clipped in a severe crew cut, and his sport coat seemed almost too tight. An outdoor man, Stenhauser figured. A hunter rather than a fisherman. He had the burly look of a hunter; fishermen were more aesthetic. Probably did weight- lifting every day. A big sport fan and a beer drinker. Not too bright, thought Stenhauser.
‘And what’s your business, Mr. uh . . .‘ Stenhauser began.
‘Sloan. Harry Sloan. I’m a snoop.’
‘A detective?’
‘No, just a snoop,’ Sloan said, drawing him in, slowly weaving a shimmery web for his fly.
Stenhauser chuckled. ‘That’s good. That’s very funny,’ he said. ‘That’s what gossip magazines are all about, right? I suppose we’re all a bit nosy.’
Sloan leaned over toward Stenhauser and said, very confidentially, ‘Yeah, but nothing like I am. I stop’ — he held two fingers a quarter of an inch apart — ‘about that far short of voyeurism.’
Stenhauser looked surprised. ‘Well most people wouldn’t admit it,’ he said, taking another sip of his martini.
‘I like to study people,’ said Sloan. ‘I feel I’m a very good judge of character.’
‘Is that right.’
‘Take you, for instance. I’ll bet you’re a very precise man.’
‘Precise, huh.’ Stenhauser thought about that for a few moments. ‘I suppose that’s true. It pays to be precise in my business.’
‘I’m sure it does. Can’t afford a slipup.’ Sloan leaned closer to him. ‘Do you deal with the criminal element?’ he asked, adding more sheen to the well,.
‘That’s what I do,’ the little man said proudly. ‘I realise I don’t look very imposing, but I speak their language. I can be very tough when need be.’
‘I can tell,’ Sloan said.
‘You can, huh?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll bet you’re one helluva negotiator.’ It was Sloan’s oldest trick, working the mark’s vanity. It never failed.
Stenhauser somewhat arrogantly wiggled his head back and forth a couple of times but did not comment. He’s hooked, Sloan thought.
‘I do a little writing,’ Sloan said. ‘I’d like to talk about some of your cases, the tough ones. 1kight be something in it for me.’
‘Uh, well, I, that’s very flattering but, uh, most of my work is highly confidential.’
‘I don’t mean real names. Just, you know, some inside stuff. The more you know, the more authentic the work is.’
‘I suppose so. Well, perhaps some other time. I have to leave in a few minutes.’
‘Look, why don’t we just talk on the way up to Seventy-fourth Street,’ Sloan said, smiling as he sipped his beer.
Stenhauser stared at him with surprise for a fraction of a second. ‘How did you. . . I’m not going home,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve got tickets for the theater.’
‘That’s a shame. Your dog’s gonna bust a kidney.’ Stenhauser leaned over close to Sloan, and said between clenched teeth, ‘What the hell are you up to, anyway?’
‘Hatcher.’
‘Hatcher?’
Sloan nodded. ‘Hatcher.’
‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’
