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at Gabe. "Huh?"
        "Sorry. My mistake maybe."
        The two guys were a little confused but they regained their footwork quick enough. One of them said, "Listen, there's lots of fascinatin' things to see in Frisco. What say you come on along with us; we'll show you the sights. How about it?"
        "Thanks just the same. Like I said I'm waiting to meet somebody."
        "Well you've been waiting quite a while. Maybe your friend's decided to stand you up, friend."
        "I'll just wait a while longer and see."
        "Wouldn't take long to see the best part of Frisco. It's all right around here."
        Gabe put his hand in his hip pocket and clutched the knuckle-duster, out of sight of the two guys. "Thanks just the same," he said again, and he put an edge on his voice this time while he inspected them more closely. They both looked like the sort who lit sulfur matches on their jaws, but there was a little difference here and there. The one who did most of the talking was slightly higher and wider than the other one. He was also somewhat gamier-a fact to which the breeze attested every time Gabe got to his leeward side. In fact, he smelled like either a whole buffalo herd or a wolf that hadn't been rained on in three months. If he took a bath he'd be about twelve pounds lighter; if they didn't they'd soon be after him to pay real estate taxes on all that dirt.
        The dirt was caked in his hair, crusted on his skin, imbedded in his clothes. The closer Gabe looked at him the more awed he became. This was definitely the filthiest guy he'd ever seen, and he'd seen them pretty filthy.
        The reason he had time to scrutinize them both was that they had stopped pressing him in order to stand and stare at the vicinity of the front door of Mme. Herz's Clothing Emporium behind him. Their expressions changed, and Gabe turned to see what it was they were looking at.
        Nothing. Or anyhow next to nothing. The guy who was emerging from the door and looking furtively over his shoulder was not exactly designed physically to strike terror into the hearts of men. In fact he was about the puniest specimen Gabe had seen since he'd stepped ashore.
        "Ittzy Herz," the gamy guy whispered in awe. "Look at that, will you? Right out in bare-ass daylight!"
        "Jeez, he must've slipped his leash."
        Ittzy Herz's face looked as if it could hold a three-day rain. He was a little sorrowful sparrow with no shoulders and a caved-in chest. He had no visible chin. He was dressed in a little round hat and a cheap black suit that looked as if its seams would come apart any minute. His eyes looked like repositories for the anguish of the ages. Gabe had seen a look like that once in the hollow eyes of a ninety-six-year-old slum priest. Maybe you got to feeling that way and looking that way after you'd seen ninety-six years worth of disappointment and had finally come to the conclusion that there was nothing you could do about it.
        The only trouble was, Ittzy Herz wasn't ninety-six years old.
        In fact it wasn't clear whether he was even old enough to vote. Maybe it was just his diminutive size, but he looked nineteen.
        None of which explained why the two tough guys were regarding him with such undisguised awe.
        Ittzy Herz either ignored their stares or didn't even notice them. Probably the latter, Gabe judged; the little guy didn't seem to be aware of anything around him at all.
        Ittzy Herz turned away from them and walked sorrowfully up the street. When he had gone out of earshot Gabe said, "Who is that guy anyway?"
        "You never heard of Ittzy Herz? He's one of the world-famous sights of San Francisco."
        The tough seemed to be draping his arm in friendly fashion around Gabe's shoulders. Gabe shifted away, and the guy moved with him. Gabe kept his hand on the knuckle duster in his pocket. He didn't want a donnybrook with these guys-he wasn't sure he could