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ing coin。
〃The boss got bumped off；〃 I said。 〃Man named Montgomery。 Somebody broke his neck。〃
〃May the Lawd receive his soul； brother。〃 Down went the voice again。 〃Cop？〃
〃Private…on a confidential lay。 And I know a man who can keep things confidential when I see one。〃
He studied me； then closed his eyes and thought。 He reopened them cautiously and stared at the spinning coin。 He couldn't resist looking at it。
〃Who done it？〃 he asked softly。 〃Who fixed Sam？〃
〃A tough guy out of the jailhouse got sore because it wasn't a white joint。 It used to be； it seems。 Maybe you remember？〃
He said nothing。 The coin fell over with a light ringing whirr and lay still。
〃Call your play；〃 I said。 〃I'll read you a chapter of the Bible or buy you a drink。 Say which。〃
〃Brother； I kind of like to read my Bible in the seclusion of my family。〃 His eyes were bright； toadlike； steady。
〃Maybe you've just had lunch；〃 I said。
〃Lunch；〃 he said； 〃is something a man of my shape and disposition aims to do without。〃 Down went the voice。 〃e 'round this here side of the desk。〃
I went around and drew the flat pint of bonded bourbon out of my pocket and put it on the shelf。 I went back to the front of the desk。 He bent over and examined it。 He looked satisfied。
〃Brother； this don't buy you nothing at all；〃 he said。 〃But I is pleased to take a light snifter in your pany。〃
He opened the bottle； put two small glasses on the desk and quietly poured each full to the brim。 He lifted one； sniffed it carefully； and poured it down his throat with his little finger lifted。
He tasted it； thought about it； nodded and said： 〃This e out of the correct bottle； brother。 In what manner can I be of service to you？ There ain't a crack in the sidewalk 'round here I don't know by its first name。 Yessuh； this liquor has been keepin' the right pany。〃 He refilled his glass。
I told him what had happened at Florian's and why。 He started at me solemnly and shook his bald head。
〃A nice quiet place Sam run too；〃 he said。 〃Ain't nobody been knifed there in a month。〃
〃When Florian's was a white joint some six or eight years ago or less； what was the name of it？〃
〃Electric signs e kind of high； brother。〃
I nodded。 〃I thought it might have had the same name。 Malloy would probably have said something if the name had been changed。 But who ran it？〃
〃I'm a mite surprised at you； brother。 The name of that pore sinner was Florian。 Mike Florian…〃
〃And what happened to Mike Florian？〃
The Negro spread his gentle brown hands。 His voice was sonorous and sad。 〃Daid； brother。 Gathered to the Lawd。 Nineteen hundred and thirty…four； maybe thirty…five。 I ain't precise on that。 A wasted life； brother； and a case of pickled kidneys； I heard say。 The ungodly man drops like a polled steer； brother； but mercy waits for him up yonder。〃 His voice went down to the business level。 〃Damm if I know why。〃
〃Who did he leave behind him？ Pour another drink。〃
He corked the bottle firmly and pushed it across the counter。 〃Two is all； brother…before sundown。 I thank you。 Your method of approach is soothin' to a man's dignity 。 。 。 Left a widow。 Name of Jessie。〃
〃What happened to her？〃
〃The pursuit of knowledge； brother； is the askin' of many questions。 I ain't heard。 Try the phone book。〃
There was a booth in the dark corner of the lobby。 I went over and shut the door far enough to put the light on。 I looked up the name in the chained and battered book。 No Florian in it at all。 I went back to the desk。
〃No soap；〃 I said。
The Negro bent regretfully and heaved a city directory up on top of the desk and pushed it towards me。 He closed his eyes。 He was getting bored。 There was a Jessie Florian； Widow； in the book。 She lived at 1644 West 54th Place。 I wondered what I had been using for brains all my life。
I wrote the address down on a piece of paper and pushed the directory back across the desk。 The Negro put it back where he had found it； shook hands with me； then folded his hands on the desk exactly where they had been when I came in。 His eyes drooped slowly and he appeared to fall asleep。
The incident for him was over。 Halfway to the door I shot a glance back at him。 His eyes were closed and he breathed softly and regularly； blowing a little with his lips at the end of each breath。 His bald head shone。
I went out of the Hotel Sans Souci and crossed the street to my car。 It looked too easy。 It looked much too easy。
5
1644 West 54th Place was a dried…out brown house with a dried…out brown lawn in front of it。 There was a large bare patch around a tough…looking palm tree。 On the porch stood one lonely wooden rocker； and the afternoon breeze made the unpruned shoots of last year's poinsettias tap…tap against the cracked stucco wall。 A line of stiff yellowish half…washed clothes jittered on a rusty wire in the side yard。
I drove on a quarter block； parked my car across the street and walked back。
The bell didn't work so I rapped on the wooden margin of the screen door。 Slow steps shuffled and the door opened and I was looking into dimness at a blowsy woman who was blowing her nose as she opened the door。 Her face was gray and puffy。 She had weedy hair of that vague color which is neither brown nor blond； that hasn't enough life in it to be ginger； and isn't clean enough to be gray。 Her body was thick in a shapeless outing flannel bathrobe many moons past color and design。 It was just something around her body。 Her toes were large and obvious in a pair of man's slippers of scuffed brown leather。
I said： 〃Mrs。 Florian？ Mrs。 Jessie Florian？〃
〃Uh…huh；〃 the voice dragged itself out of her throat like a sick man getting out of bed。
〃You are the Mrs。 Florian whose husband once ran a place of entertainment on Central Avenue？ Mike Florian？〃
She thumbed a wick of hair past her large ear。 Her eyes glittered with surprise。 Her heavy clogged voice said：
〃Wha…what？ My goodness sakes alive。 Mike's been gone these five years。 Who did you say you was？〃
The screen door was still shut and hooked。
〃I'm a detective；〃 I said。 〃I'd like a little information。〃
She stared at me a long dreary minute。 Then with effort she unhooked the door and turned away from it。
〃e on in then。 I ain't had time to get cleaned up yet；〃 she whined。 〃Cops； huh？〃
I stepped through the door and hooked the screen again。 A large handsome cabinet radio droned to the left of the door in the corner of the room。 It was the only decent piece of furniture the place had。 It looked brand new。 Everything was junk…dirty overstuffed pieces； a wooden rocker that matched the one on the porch； a square arch into a dining room with a stained table； finger marks all over the swing door to the kitchen beyond。 A couple of frayed lamps with once gaudy shades that were now as gay as super…annuated streetwalkers。
The woman sat down in the rocker and flopped her slippers and looked at me。 I looked at the radio and sat down at the end of a davenport。 She saw me looking at it。 A bogus heartiness； as weak as a Chinaman's tea； moved into her face and voice。 〃All the p'ny I got；〃 she said。 Then she tittered。 〃Mike ain't done nothing new； has he？ I don't get cops calling on me much。