“I not only get more tail than Sinatra,” I said, smiling back at him, “I get more than Nick Varnos.”

That had more truth in it than the other stuff I’d told him, but only slightly.

Nevertheless, it made Jerry roar with laughter. The redhead came over to give him a refill, and he frowned and started to raise a reluctant hand, to shoo her away.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he said. “I’m drivin’.”

The thought of him driving made her eyes widen.

“I can take you to your hotel,” I said. “Go on and enjoy yourself…Another round, miss. Please.”

She smiled at me-I think you got in good with her if you just didn’t call her “honey” or “sweetie.” Maybe I could have got lucky with her, but I was playing another game.

As Jerry and I spoke, she brought several more rounds- and of course, my side of that was Coca Cola, one glass to every double Scotch Jerry downed. My sugar high was far outweighed by his alcoholic fog.

“How did Nick keep you guys afloat,” I asked, “with the Broker out of the picture?”

Jerry shrugged, and blinked blearily. “I’m not the business end. I stay out of that shit. What I don’t know can’t hurt me kinda deal. All I know is, Nick has some connections with the goombahs-I mean, he’s lived in Vegas for over twenty years-and I figure that’s the, uh, you know… the con do it.”

Conduit, in non-drunkese.

“Jeez,” I said, and mock-shivered, “handling mob hits, that must make things kind of tense. I don’t scare easy, but any time I had to deal with those boys, it gave me pause.”

Jerry flashed the choppers again. “I don’t know, Quarry. You always seemed like a pretty cool customer to me-I don’t see anything much ever giving you fuckin’ ‘pause.’ ”

“Thanks. But I got out. You stayed in. You and Nick must be made of sturdier stuff. I just buy used books and records from college kids now. Not too many bullets flying.”