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bucket or a barrel of Colonel Sanders' fried chicken. There was a parking stub for the Dupont Plaza Hotel garage, an ivory toothpick in a tiny leather case, and a key to a two-bit locker. Bus station? Airport? Any public place that has rental lockers. And that was all.
           "I've never seen a man's wallet this skimpy," I said to Eddie.
           "Me either," Eddie said. "I can hardly fold mine, I got so much junk."
           "Which one is you?" I said, reading the gas credit cards again. "Cohen, Franciscus, or Wexley?"
           "I don't like to use the same gas all the time, man," he said, then he giggled.
           I got up and kicked him in the shin with the side of my foot. Because I was wearing tennis shoes, it didn't hurt him half as much as he let on, but because he was surprised, he lost some of his poise.
           "Look, you guys," he said, "why don't you just take the money and let me go. I haven't done anything—"
           "What's the girl's name?" I said.
           "I don't know her name. Honest."
           "What's her name? She told us she was waiting for you, so there's no point lying about it."
           "Her name's Hildy." He shrugged, yawned, and looked away from me.
           "Hildy what?"
           "I don't know, man. She worked for me some, but I never knew her last name."
           "Doing what?" I said.
           "She sold a little stuff for me now and then—at Bethune."
           "Mary Bethune Junior High?"
           "Yeah."
           "Did you drop her off, earlier tonight, at the drive-in?"
           "No. I was supposed to collect some dough from her there, that's all."
           "Do you know how old she is?"
           "She's in the eighth grade, she said, but I never asked how old she was. That's none of my business."
           "So you turned her on to drugs without even caring how old she was?" Hank said. "You're the lowest sonofabitch I've ever met."
           "I never turned her on to no drugs, man," the man said. "She was takin' shit long before I met her. What I was doing, I was doing her a favor. She lives with her mother, she said. Her mother works at night, over at the beach, she said. And her father split a couple of years back for Hawaii. So Hildy asked me if she could sell some for me. She was trying to save up enough money to go to her father in Hawaii. That's all. And the other kid, a black kid, who used to sell for me at Bethune, he took off for Jacksonville with fifty bucks he owed me. I needed someone at Bethune, and I told Hildy I'd give her a chance. She needed the bread, she said. She wanted to live with her father in Hawaii. So what I was doing, I was doing her a favor."
           He ran down. We all stared at him. Beneath his heavy tan, his face was flushed, and he perspired heavily in the airconditioned room.
           "I ain't no worse'n you guys," the man in the yellow jump suit said. "What the hell, you guys picked her up to screw her, didn't you? Well, didn't you?"
           "You mean you were screwing her, too?" Don said.
           "No—I never touched her. She might've gone down on me a couple of times, but I never touched her."
           "What do you mean, 'might have'?" Don said. "Did she or didn't she?"
           "Yeah, I guess she did, a couple of times. But I never made her do it. She wanted to, she said."
           Don fired the pistol. It was like a small explosion in the crowded room. Hank, standing in the kitchenette archway, dropped his glass on the floor. It didn't break. Eddie, sitting beside me, sucked in his breath. The man in the yellow jump suit clawed at his chest with both hands. He sank to his knees and his back arched as his head fell back. The back of his head hit the couch and his arms dropped loosely to his sides. He remained in that position, without toppling, his face in the air, looking up at nothing, on his knees, with his