“What?”

“You are surprised? My original business with Gluck had to do with other matters. I have a ship in the East River and my business required special docking procedures, and Mr. Gluck’s-uh-unique influence over docking matters-“

“You mean Gluck dreamed up this job in the first place?”

“No. The job was there. I mentioned my efforts to find this associate, and Mr. Gluck suggested that you might help.”

Not until then did it occur to Jesso just how badly Gluck wanted him out. That grinning bastard even went out of his way to hunt up a bum job for Jesso.

The phone rang, but Jesso didn’t move. For a moment he felt pushed into a corner, squeezed from every side by Gluck, the thing he stood for, the big, invisible strength of the syndicate.

“Jesso, the phone is ringing.”

He reached for the receiver and said, “Yes, hello.” It sounded a little sharp.

“I am ready with your call to Las Vegas. Go ahead, please.”

“Hello. That you, Carter?”

“Jackie, how are ya? You’re hardly home and already-”

“Listen close, Paul. I got business. You remember Bonetti?”

“Bonetti?”

“Yeah, yeah, Bonetti. Twenty years ago. You’re old enough to remember.”

“Oh, Bonetti! Sure, I remember him.”

“You knew him pretty good, didn’t you?”

“A little business here and there.”

“So listen. He had a punk in his crowd called Snell. Joseph Snell.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Sort of short, popeyed.”

“Never heard of him, Jackie.”

“All right, all right. Snell was in his crowd, though. Who’s still around that Snell might know?”

There was silence for a moment and then Carter said, “Bonetti’s dead.”

“I didn’t ask that, damn it!”

“There was Pickles, but he’s on the rock.”

“Bonetti had a brother, didn’t he?”

“That’s right. But, Christ, he must be seventy or something. Besides, he never hung around much. Did the fencing, is all.”