'I'll listen.'
I looked at Gino. Gino nodded.
I said, 'Let's take a walk.'
Gino said, 'You don't wish to talk in front of me?'
'True,' I said.
'Why?'
'I know Vinnie never says anything to anybody about anything. So I trust him. I know that you will do what suits your best interest. So I don't trust you.'
'Be careful how you talk to me,' Gino said gently.
'You asked,' I said.
Gino nodded and looked at Vinnie and tipped his head toward the door. Vinnie got up and we went out.
Vinnie is shorter than I am and maybe twenty pounds lighter. He's compact and always moved as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Along with a guy in L.A., Vinnie was the best shooter I'd ever seen, and had the quickest hands.
As we walked up Clarendon Street past Hammersley's Bistro and the new ballet building, Vinnie said to me, 'You need to be careful about Gino. Just cause's he's queer don't mean he's not tough.'
'I know he's tough,' I said.
'Gino's okay,' Vinnie said.
'Sure,' I said.
I told him about Potshot and the Dell and Preacher. Vinnie didn't interrupt. When I was through he said, 'Who else's in it?'
'Hawk,' I said.
'And you.'
'Yeah.'
'I come in, that's three.'
'Un-huh.'
'Who else you going for?'
'People you don't know.'
'Out of town,' Vinnie said.
It wasn't a question. He would know anybody in town.
'Yes,' I said. 'You in?'
'Sure,' Vinnie said.
Chapter 19
SUSAN AND I were in Atlanta, in Buckhead, at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Susan was on the phone with the concierge.
When she hung up, she said, 'We have a reservation at The Horseradish Grill at seven.'
'Are you planning to have a green salad and a small iced tea?' I said.
'Maybe we could split one,' she said.
'I don't know if I should eat that much,' I said. 'I've got a big day tomorrow.'
'How far a drive is it to Lamarr?'
'Couple of hours,' I said. 'East on Route 20.'
'Maybe I'll come with you,' she said.
'I thought you wanted to shop Buckhead.'
'I think I'd like to go with you.'
'On Rodeo Drive,' I said, 'on Fifth Avenue, and Worth Avenue and North Michigan Avenue, shoppers genuflect at the mere mention of Buckhead. And you, for whom shopping is one of the seven lively arts, you want to take a two-hour drive with me to Lamarr, Georgia?'
'Yes.'
'Is it because you are hoping to score me in the back seat of the rental car on the way down?'
'No.'
'Well it was a good guess,' I said.
'I want to go,' she said, 'because in a little while I won't have much chance to be with you until you come back from the desert. It's why I wanted to come this far with you.'
