"I saw him being dropped off here earlier," he replied.

"From what sort of vehicle?"

"Black, C Twenty, a Cadillac."

"Did you get a look at anyone else in the car?"

The man looked back at the body, licked his lips, smiled again. "No."

Johnson came up with a piece of sailcloth and covered the body. He picked up the fallen pistol and stuck it behind his belt. Rising, he placed a hand on Red's shoulder.

"I'm setting out a bleeper," he said, "but there's no telling how long it will take to call us a cop. You should stay to give a report you know."

"Yeah, I'll wait."

"Let's get back then. I'll get you a room and a drink."

"Okay. Just a minute."

Red returned to the parking area and retrieved his book.

"That bullet damaged my thpeaker," came its sibilant voice.

"I know. I'll get you a new one, the best they make. Thanks for stopping it. And thanks for distracting him."

"I hope it wath worth it. Why wath he thooting at you?"

"I don't know, Flowers. I've got the impression that he was what is known in some places as a hit man. Possibly Syndicate. If so, there is no connection between his employers and myself that I can think of. I just don't know."

He slipped the volume into his pocket, then followed Johnson back inside.

Two

Randy spotted the blue pickup pulling out, and nosed into the parking place.

"This is the place?" he said, looking toward Spiro's.

Leila nodded, not looking up from her reading of Leaves of Grass.

"It was, at the time I was seeing, back in Africa," she said. "Now that we're in real time here, I don't know how close to synch it is."

"Translate."

"He might not have arrived yet, or he might already have departed."