“Little notebook in my jacket pocket,” he said.

The jacket was on the couch, nearby.

“Get it out.”

“Really?”

“Go ahead and get it.”

“I mean… aren’t you a little leery about me trying something?”

“Not at all. I’d like it.”

“I think maybe you would, Quarry. Here it is. Should I toss it?”

“No,” I said, and came and got it. I flipped through it, one-handed; the notes were sparse and not particularly thorough, making use of a number system I didn’t quite follow, though it obviously recorded the times of activities carried out by somebody. “I don’t see the name of Castile, anywhere.”

“It’s there. In code.”

“Code.”

“Yeah. He’s in there as ten dash three.”

I looked and saw “10-3” throughout.

“Any special reason for choosing that?”

“J is the tenth letter of the alphabet, C is the third. J.C. Jerry Castile.”

“Or Jesus Christ.”

“Ain’t you heard, Quarry? That sucker’s already dead.”

“Yeah, him and Tyrone Power both. It’s a goddamn epidemic. That’s some code. It’d probably take a Boy Scout a good two minutes to crack.”

“I had to explain it to you, didn’t I?”

“Well that’s true. You have me there. But I seem to have you.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“That’s a problem.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I maybe believe you.”

“About Castile, you mean? Of course you believe me. I’m telling you the truth.”

“Maybe. Maybe.”

“So what happens now?”

“I’m going to knock you out.”

“Do you have to?”

“You’re going to wake up again. What more do you want?”

“I want to reverse this situation sometime.”

“Maybe you will. Do me one favor.”

“What?”

“Don’t mess around with that little girl anymore.”

“Why? What’s it to you?”