At times like this he didn’t feel right. He needed his hands in things, and he rarely did anything that wasn’t big; big as far as he was concerned. All that concerned him was Benny Tapkow going to the top, no matter what.

He stood by the desk, a nervous tingling in his hands. They were narrow and slim. They didn’t show half their strength. Except for the tendons on the back, like wires.

“Fine,” Jack was saying. “Fine. So long, Turk.”

Jack put the receiver down and started to scribble on a pad. He tore the leaf off and gave it to Benny. “Here’s your receipt, kid. Boss says to give you the receipt.”

Benny took the paper and turned to go. He felt all right again. Why should Pendleton kick? He knew a good man when he saw him, and Benny had made sure that Pendleton noticed. He’d been making sure for years.

“One sec, kid.”

“You can stop calling me kid.”

“Pendleton wants to see you.”

Benny turned. “Pendleton?”

“Himself. Tonight.”

“Did he say-”

“All he said was tonight, kid.”

Benny used to see a lot of Pendleton, but that didn’t mean a thing. The job called for it. It was Mr. Pendleton then and it was Mr. Pendleton now.

He had an apartment on Sutton Place, where he spent most of his time. Benny sat in a gold-and-black anteroom waiting for the butler to come back and show him where to go. Through the archway with the columns he could see another room, a large one with a view. There was more black and gold.

“Mr. Pendleton is ready,” said the butler, and then Benny was in the dark library where Pendleton sat behind a desk.

It had been a while but Pendleton hadn’t changed. His bony face looked white and his mouth was a thin straight line. The close-set eyes were like flint.

“A little closer, Tapkow,” Pendleton said. He moved one narrow shoulder under his suit. He often did that. He did it in a quick, precise movement that was hard to catch.