“You going to spend it now?”

He gave me a sharp look. There was a noise behind us. The bouncer was on his feet again, weaving a little. He had his hand on the knob of a dark door over behind the crap table. He got the door open, half fell through. The door clattered shut. A lock clicked.

“Where’s that go?” Moose Malloy demanded.

The barman’s eyes floated in his head, focused with difficulty on the door through which the bouncer had stumbled.

“Tha — tha’s Mistah Montgomery’s office, suh. He’s the boss. He’s got his office back there.”

“He might know,” the big man said. He drank his drink at a gulp. “He better not crack wise neither. Two more of the same.”

He crossed the room slowly, lightfooted, without a care in the world. His enormous back hid the door. It was locked. He shook it and a piece of the panel flew off to one side. He went through and shut the door behind him.

There was silence. I looked at the barman. The barman looked at me. His eyes became thoughtful. He polished the counter and sighed and leaned down with his right ann.

I reached across the counter and took hold of the arm. It was thin, brittle. I held it and smiled at him.

“What you got down there, bo?”

He licked his lips. He leaned on my arm, and said nothing. Grayness invaded his shining face.

“This guy is tough,” I said. “And he’s liable to go mean. Drinks do that to him. He’s looking for a girl he used to know. This place used to be a white establishment. Get the idea?”

The barman licked his lips

“He’s been away a long time,” I said. “Eight years. He doesn’t seem to realize how long that is, although I’d expect him to think it a life time. He thinks the people here should know where his girl is. Get the idea?”

The barman said slowly: “I thought you was with him.”