“Something like that,” Padillo said.
“And I suppose we’ll be shot at again,” Symmes said, “and you’ll get mad and take it out on us.” He seemed to assume that he wouldn’t get hit.
“If it doesn’t work this time, you won’t have to worry about another try,” Padillo said. “In fact, you won’t have to Worry about much of anything. None of us will.”
He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a couple of hours before you call, Mac. You and Max might as well get some sleep. I’ll stay up.”
Max grunted, wrapped himself in his blanket, and rested his head on his arms, which he laid across his raised knees. Padillo and I sat on the blanket and leaned against the wall and smoked. Burchwood and Symmes followed Max’s example.
It was slow time. I went through a what-in-hell-am-I-doing-here cross-examination, then shifted into a small orgy of self-pity, and finally just sat there and planned the saloon’s menus, day by day, for the next five years,
“It’s eleven,” Padillo said.
“Let’s go.”
We climbed up the ladder and I dialed the number that Maas had given me. It answered on the first ring. “Herr Maas, please,” I said.
“Ah!” the familiar voice said. “Herr McCorkle. I must say that I have been anticipating your call—especially since the accident this evening. That was you, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“No one was hurt?”
“No.”
“Very good. Herr Padillo is with you?”
“Yes.”
“Now, then, I assume that you wish to conclude the business arrangement that we discussed day before yesterday?”
“We’d like to talk about it.”
“Yes, yes, negotiations would be in order, especially since there are five now that Herr Baker has joined you. Of course, this makes my original proposal subject to review. You understand that the first cost estimate—”
“I don’t need a sales talk,” I cut in. “Suppose we meet so we can get down to cases.”
“Of course, of course. Where are you now?”
My hand tightened on the telephone. “That’s a stupid question, coming from you.”
Maas chuckled over the telephone. “I understand, my dear friend. Let me propose this: I would assume that you are within a mile of where this evening’s—uh—accident—yes, accident—occurred?”
“All right.”
“I suggest a cafe—where I am known. It has a private room in the back. It should be within walking distance of where you are now.”
“Hold on,” I said. I put my hand over the mouthpiece and told Padillo.
He nodded and said, “Get the address.”
“What’s the address?”
Maas told me, I repeated it, and Padillo wrote it down on a scrap of paper on Langeman’s cluttered desk.
“What time?” I asked.
“Would midnight be convenient?”
“It’s all right.”
“There will be three of you?”
“No, just Herr Padillo and myself.”
“Of course, of course; Herr Baker must stay with your two American guests.”
“We’ll see you at midnight,” I said, and hung up.
“He knows Cooky was with us, and he thinks he still is,” I told Padillo.
“Let’s let him think it for a while. Wait here and I’ll get some directions from Max.” Padillo climbed down the ladder and was back in a few minutes. Max followed him.
“It’s about nine blocks from here, Max says. He’ll stay on the door until we get back. Our two friends are sleeping.”
The cafe was ordinary-looking. We had made the nine blocks from Langeman’s garage in fifteen minutes, passing down dark streets, encountering only a stray pedestrian or two. We stood across the street from the cafe in the doorway of an office building of some kind.
Maas arrived on foot at fifteen minutes until midnight. Three men had come out of the cafe separately since we had begun our watch. Maas had been the only one to go in. Nobody else came or went during the remaining quarter-hour.
“Let’s go,” Padillo said.
