she feared falling out on the floor. She looked at me and in a trembly voice said, “I’m gonna quit this goddamn job.”
“You okay?”
“Hell no, I’m not okay. Did you get a look at that guy? Did you see his eyes? Did you see that goddamn gun?” She blinked. “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with him?”
“He just likes scaring people. He likes to watch ‘em cringe, that’s how he gets his kicks. His shtick is to always take offense no matter what you say.”
“I’m not talking about
“I guess you’ll have to ask Carl that,” I said. Then I nodded a silent
Out on the street I stopped for a minute and took stock. A dark mood followed me down the block and into the same cafe as before, where I sat at the same window so I could look back at the block and the bookstore. I ordered a light lunch and took stock again. The last time I had backed away from a bully like that I had been in grammar school, about to learn one of the great guiding lessons of my life:
Deadly was right. You don’t take on a guy like that unless it’s for keeps. And once it starts, you’ve got to be willing to do anything.
I hoped not. But I had a hunch.
I ate my sandwich, then went to the phone booth and tried calling Koko Bujak. No answer. I went back to my table for some real coffee, strong and black, none of that decaf crap after the night I’d had. I sipped my way through three cups, took stock for the third time, and pronounced myself okay.
Business at Treadwell’s had improved by early afternoon and now they had a steady stream of book-toting traffic going in and out. A bookscout with a heavy backpack came out with his load no lighter. Things were the same all over.
Dean appeared at two o’clock. He stood on the street and scratched his balls for a moment; then he came on down the block, passed my window, and hustled himself across Broadway. I left three dollars on the table and hustled on after him.
He walked north a couple of blocks, went west on Gough, and on into a lively section of Italian restaurants and bars. He turned into one of the bars. I waited outside but that soon lost its charm so I went in, lingering in the dark place just inside the door. The room was crowded with afternoon boozers and I didn’t see Dean anywhere. I started to move deeper into the room, but suddenly I stopped and jerked back against the wall. I had seen someone sitting at a table just a few feet away, someone who couldn’t be here but was, who would know me on sight. I eased myself out and took another quick look.
It was Hal Archer.
CHAPTER 15
I had to move away from the door. People were now coming in a steady stream, so I walked behind Archer to the end of the bar, where I could hopefully blend into the heavy afternoon crowd. I had just taken the last available stool when Dean came out of the John, went over to Archer’s table, and sat down. They had a long powwow that ran into the happy hour, through half a dozen beers for Dean and two slow-sipping cocktails for Archer. I sat, watched, and nursed my own beer, thinking of these two odd bedfellows and what a small world it was. Small world, my ass. Seeing them together made everything murkier, but it left no room in my mind for coincidence.
Archer left first. He got up, said something to Dean, hit the boys’ room, and walked out of the bar a few minutes later. Dean had ordered another beer and seemed to be settling in for the night. I decided there might be more to gain by tailing Archer than watching Dean get drunk, so I followed him out into the street. I had to be careful now: one mistake and my cover would be blown. But on second thought, how much did that really matter? My time here was short: I would have to confront them all at some point.
I half expected Archer to hop a cab and leave me gaffing on the street, but for once I was lucky. He kept walking and he never looked back. Five minutes later he went into a hotel. I followed him into the lobby, just in time to see him get into an elevator and go up to the tenth floor.
What now?
I would wait, at least for a while: sit in the lobby with a newspaper, and if my luck held nobody would bother me till Archer came down again. Again I was lucky. The desk clerk had just begun eyeing me suspiciously after an hour when the elevator opened and Archer stepped out.
He had changed clothes and now wore a dark evening jacket and a bright turtleneck. I watched him over the top of my newspaper as he turned in to the dining room. The old Murphy’s Law derivative ran through my head.
