The TV was tuned to the football game. Nolen sat in the room’s one comfortable chair facing the set, eyes closed, head lying on his shoulder, snoring a little. Moran shook him, taking the empty glass he held in his lap.

“Hey, Nolen?”

He woke up right away. “What’s the matter?” He rubbed his hand over his face and saw Moran placing the glass on the table, by the scotch and the box of crackers. Moran came back to the chair.

“Two guys came in. Looking for the piano player.”

Nolen didn’t say anything.

“You hear what I said?”

“What time is it?”

“About ten-thirty. They came out with Prado and Anita, said they’re going to have a drink, but I don’t think so. They put ’em in a car and drove off. A red and white Cadillac.”

“There you are,” Nolen said.

“What do you mean, there you are? They took ’em somewhere.”

“Forget about it,” Nolen said. He still hadn’t moved, sitting low in the chair.

“One of them, his name’s Jiggs Scully. The other guy was Cuban-I don’t know, Latin.”

“The guy told you his name?”

“He gave me his card. Jiggs Scully.”

“You believe him?”

“He gave me his card.”

“You’re paid up,” Nolen said. “Forget about it.”

“You sound like the guy Jiggs,” Moran said. He turned around and walked out.

When he got the key to Number One Jerry wanted to go with him, but Moran told him he’d better stay in the office in case there was a call. He didn’t want Jerry along. He was afraid he’d see something in the apartment and Jerry would ask questions and he’d end up telling Jerry the woman was Andres de Boya’s sister and then Jerry would ask more questions and Moran would have to stand there saying, “I don’t know,” over and over, Jerry driving him nuts. It was true, he didn’t know what was going on. They could be good friends and the guy was kidding about kicking the door in. The woman hadn’t yelled. She could have run or at least yelled out when she saw him standing by the swimming pool.