pull that big one once more, the one that only Tony Catell could handle, the job that meant big time. And he wanted to walk away from it with a bundle. Perhaps this heist had looked so easy because he still had that old touch. And he certainly had walked away with a solid piece of swag. He patted the briefcase beside him. There was nothing small time about its contents, a thirty-six-pound ingot of solid gold.

Chapter Two

Otto Schumacher chewed his gray mustache and pushed his glass back and forth on the table. He looked across the crowded room of the roadhouse, but he didn’t focus on anything in particular.

“What time is it, Selma?”

“Eleven. Five minutes later than the last time you asked me.”

Schumacher hardly heard the woman. He was nervous; he disliked public places.

“Otto, lemme have another drink.” Selma waited a moment for an answer and then waved for a waiter.

She got her drink and rolled a little bit of the liquid on her tongue. She liked the fine sharp sting in her mouth.

“Otto, how about another one for you?”

Schumacher looked at his glass, half full with a tepid brown liquid.

“No, thanks. You have one.”

“I just got one.”

“Good. Good. Anything you want, Selma.”

“I want a hot-water bottle.”

“Fine. Fine, Selma.”

“I want two hot-water bottles, you bum!”

“You want—Selma, what are you talking about?”

Selma looked at Schumacher as if he were a sick dog and made an ugly sound in her throat. Then she swallowed her drink.

“Selma, what was that for?”

“For you, lovin’ cup. I want another drink.”

“You’re the one that wanted to come. I told you this was strictly business, but you had to tag along.”

“That’s right, lovin’ cup. I had to tag along to this converted hash joint. I had to tag along. That’s how much fun I get hanging around you, lovin’ cup.”

“Selma, I have spoken to you before and I will speak again. I give you anything, the best—”

“With you, the best ain’t much, lovin’ cup.”

“You’re no spring chicken yourself, dear Selma.” There was a short silence. They didn’t look at each other.

“I want another drink.”

Schumacher went to the bar to buy Selma another drink. He was disgusted with himself for losing his temper. Besides, Selma was all right, a fine woman to have around. Just right, now that she was slowing down a little.

He brought the drink back to the booth and noticed that Selma was getting tight. The little wrinkles around her eyes showed up more clearly and one of her curls was hanging down the side of her ear.

“Selma, I got business tonight and I must ask you to go easy. You know what it means to us.”

“Yeah. I bet he won’t show.”

Schumacher narrowed his eyes for a moment. “He’ll show. I’ve known Tony for twenty years and he’ll show.”

“And what if he shows and the deal didn’t come off?”

“The deal came off all right, Selma.”

“So what are you worried about? Why do you have to sit there like a fireplug the dog passed by?”

“It’s not that simple. There’s some trouble.”

“Oh, sure. Schumacher, the brains from way back, he gets himself the best jug heavy in the field, his old buddy Tony Catell, who, just fresh from college, is eager to please his old buddy Otto, and he sets him up with a setup like happens once in a lifetime, he sets him up. And when Tony delivers the goods, all of a sudden there is some trouble. With you, Schumacher, there is always some trouble!”

Schumacher didn’t answer. If she didn’t stop shouting and making scenes, he’d tell her to beat it for good. He’d tell her she was through and she could pick her stuff up in the morning. Off the sidewalk, where he’d throw it. Schumacher turned toward Selma but she wasn’t saying a thing now. Her lidded eyes were wide open, her thin mouth was smiling vaguely, and her chin was tilted up as if she were looking over somebody’s head. Selma was patting her tight curls and then Schumacher saw Tony Catell in the crowd.

He was slowly worming his way past the bar, around the crowded tables, and up to the booth. Catell walked past the booth without a sign of recognition. He went to the men’s room, came back to the booth, and sat down.

“What’s she here for?”

“Otto and I are always together,” Selma said, and she put her hand through Schumacher’s arm. She leaned forward on the table and smiled at Catell. He looked at the V of her