described in prison. In his early weeks at the club he repeated it, under LaRocca's prodding, at least a dozen times. It always produced nods of belief, along with comments about 'stinkin' hypocrites' and 'goddam gumment crooks.'
To supplement his fund of stories, Miles went one day to the apartment block where he had lived before imprisonment, and retrieved his reference books. Most of his other few possessions had long since been sold to pay arrears of rent, but the janitor had kept the books and let Miles have them. Once, Miles had owned a coin and banknote collection, then sold it when he was heavily in debt. Someday, he hoped, he might become a collector again, though the prospect seemed far away.
Able to dip into his books, which he kept in the fourth-floor cubicle, Miles talked to LaRocca and the others about some of the stranger forms of money. The heaviest currency ever, he told them, was the agronite stone discs used on the Pacific island of Yap up to the outbreak of World War II. Most of the discs, he explained, were one foot wide, but one denomination had a width of twelve feet and, when used for purchasing, was transported on a pole. 'Waddabout change?' someone asked amid laughter, and Miles assured them it was given in smaller stone discs.
In contrast, he reported, the lightest-weight money was scarce types of feathers, used in New Hebrides. Also, for centuries salt circulated as money, especially in Ethiopia, and the Romans used it to pay their workers, hence the word 'salary' which evolved from 'salt.' And in Borneo, as recently as the nineteenth century, Miles told the others, human skulls were legal tender.
But invariably, before such sessions ended, the talk swung back to counterfeiting.
After one such occasion, a hulking driver-bodyguard who hung around the club while his boss played cards upstairs, took Miles aside.
'Hey, kid, you talk big about counterfeit. Take a looka this.' He held out a clean, crisp twenty-dollar bill.
Miles accepted the banknote and studied it. The experience was not new to him. When he worked at First Mercantile American Bank, suspected bogus bills were usually brought to him because of his specialist knowledge. The big man was grinning. 'Pretty good, huh?'
'If this is a fake,' Miles said, 'it's the best I've ever seen.'
'Wanna buy a few?' From an inner pocket the bodyguard produced nine more twenties. 'Gimme forty bucks in real stuff, kid, that whole two hunnert's yours.'
It was about the going rate, Miles knew, for high-grade queer. He observed, too, that the other bills were just as good as the first.
About to refuse the offer, he hesitated. He had no intention of passing any fake money, but realized it was something he could send to Wainwright.
'Hold it!' he told the burly man, and went upstairs to his room where he had squirreled away slightly more than forty dollars. Some of it had been left over from Wainwright's original fifty-dollar stake; the rest was from tips Miles had been given around the gaming rooms. He took the money, mostly in small bills, and exchanged it downstairs for the counterfeit two hundred. Later that night he hid the counterfeit money in his room.
The next day, Jules LaRocca, grinning, told him, 'Hear ya didda stroke business.' Miles was at his bookkeeper's desk in the third floor offices.. 'A little,' he admitted
LaRocca moved his pot belly closer and lowered his voice. 'Ya wanna piece more action?' Miles said cautiously, 'It depends what kind.'
'Like makin' a trip to Louisville. Movin' summa the stuff you bought last night.'
Miles felt his stomach tighten, knowing that if he agreed and were caught, it would not only put him back in prison, but for much longer than before. Yet if he didn't take risks, how could he continue learning, and gaining the confidence of others here?
'All it is, is drivin' a car from here to there. You get paid two C notes.'
'What happens if I'm stopped? I'm on parole and not allowed a driver's license.'
'A license ain't no problem if you gotta photo front view, head 'n shoulders.' 'I haven't, but I could get one.' 'Do it fast.'
During his lunch break, Miles walked to a downtown bus station and obtained a photograph from an automatic machine. He gave it to LaRocca the same afternoon.
Two days later, again while Miles was working, a hand silently placed a small rectangle of paper on the ledger in front of him. With amazement he saw it was a state driver's license, embodying the photo he had supplied. When he turned, LaRocca stood behind him, gnnning. 'Better service than the License Bureau, oh?' Miles said incredulously, 'You mean it's a forgery?' 'Can ya tella difference?'
'No, I can't.' He peered at the license which appeared to be identical with an official one. 'How did you get it' 'Never mind.'
'No,' Miles said, 'I'd really like to know. You know how interested I am in things like this.'
LaRocca's face clouded; for the first time his eyes revealed suspicion. 'Why ye wanna know?'
'Just interest. The way I told you.' Miles hoped a sudden nervousness didn't show.
'Some questions ain't smart. A guy asks too many, people start wondering. He might get hurt. He might get hurt bad.'
Miles stayed silent, LaRocca watching. Then, it seemed, the moment of suspicion passed.
'It'll be tomorrow night,' Jules LaRocca informed him 'You'll be told wotta do, and when.'
Next day, in the early evening, the instructions were delivered again by the perennial messenger, LaRocca, who handed Miles a set of car keys, a parking receipt from a city lot, and a one-way airline ticket. Miles was to pick up the car a maroon Chevrolet Impala drive it off the lot, then continue through the night to Louisville. On arrival he would go to Louisville airport and park the car there, leaving the airport parking ticket and keys under the front seat. Before leaving the car he was to wipe it carefully to remove his own fingerprints. Then he would take an early- morning flight back.
The worst minutes for Miles were early on, when he had located the car and was driving it from the city parking lot. He wondered tensely: Had the Chevrolet been under surveillance by police? Perhaps whoever parked the car was suspect, and was followed here. If so, now was the moment the law was most likely to close in. Miles knew there had to be a high risk; otherwise someone like himself would not have been sought as courier. And although he had no actual knowledge, he presumed the counterfeit money probably a lot of it was in the trunk.
But nothing happened though it was not until he had left the parking lot well behind and was near the city limits that he began to relax.
Once or twice on the highway, when he encountered state police patrol cars, his heart beat faster, but no one stopped him, and he reached Louisville shortly before dawn after an uneventful journey.
Only one thing happened which was not in the plan. Thirty miles or so from Louisville, Miles pulled off the highway and, in darkness, aided by a flashlight, opened the car's trunk. It contained two heavy suitcases, both securely locked. Briefly he considered forcing one of the locks, then commonsense told him he would jeopardize himself by doing so. After that he closed the trunk, copied down the Impala's license number, and continued on.
He found the Louisville airport without difficulty and after observing the rest of his instructions, boarded a flight back and was at the Double-Seven Health Club shortly before 10 A.M. No questions were asked about his absence.
Through the remainder of the day Miles was weary from the lack of sleep, though he managed to keep working. In the afternoon LaRocca arrived, beaming and smoking a fat cigar.
'Ya whacked off a clean job, Milesy. Nobody's pissed off. Everybody pleased.'
'That's good,' Miles said. 'When do I get paid the two hundred dollars?'
'Y' awready did. Ominsky took it Goes toward what ya owe him.'
Miles sighed. He supposed he should have expected something of the kind, though it seemed ironic to have risked so much, solely for the loan shark's benefit. He asked LaRocca, 'How did Ominsky know7' 'Ain't much he don't.'
'A minute ago you said everybody was pleased. Who's 'everybody'? If I do a job like yesterday's, I like to know who I'm working for.'
'Like I told ye, there's some things it ain't smart to know or ask.'
'I suppose so.' Obviously he would learn nothing more and he forced a smile for LaRocca's benefit, though today Miles's cheerfulness was gone and depression had replaced it. The overnight trip had been a strain and,
