‘Tough guy,’ he sneered.

‘Don’t push me,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a hard day in the suburbs. I might throw you off the balcony just to hear the glass break.’

It wasn’t much to say and didn’t look so hard to do. He was more like a jockey than a driver or a steward, not more than five two and the ball of muscle he’d once been was getting a coating of fat. Still, he could be right for those trades; drivers and stewards work in confined spaces and extra inches get in the way. His hair was thinning across a pink scalp and dark stubble was bristling on his pale cheeks — a night person who slept while the sun shone. I smoothed out the ten dollars.

‘You used to work for the Chattertons, driving.’

‘Right, no sweat there Slim. I left that job clean as a whistle.’

‘Who said you didn’t? Put your guilty conscience away, it craps me. Do you remember a tramp coming to see the old lady, a few years back?’

He drew the cigarette down to the filter and squashed it out in a saucer. ‘I remember him. What a wreck! You could have bottled his breath.’

‘What did he say to you?’

‘Not much. He wanted to see the lady.’

‘Why’d you give him a hearing?’

He scratched his jaw, remembering. ‘Well, it was like this. I was surprised to see a tramp up there. But that’s not all. He got out of a cab and I saw him flash some money. He told the cabbie to wait.’

‘Did the cab wait?’

‘You bet it did. He had a roll like this.’ He made a circle of his thumbs and forefingers. ‘Well, I’m stretching it a bit but he had some dough, I can tell you.’

‘What sort of cab was it?’

‘City.’

‘You’re very sure.’

‘Look, it was very unusual, I can see it like yesterday.’

‘Did you see the driver?’

‘I did, yeah.’

‘Remember him like yesterday?’

‘When do we start talking money? I think I can help if you’re trying to find that guy. That’s it isn’t it?’