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sister’s life.”
    â€œYou stupid dame, it isn’t compensation. It’s payment for information.”
    â€œWhat makes you think she’d give it to you?”
    When I glanced at her she almost backed away. “Because she’s like you,” I said. “She wants to see me killed too. She’d give me anything I wanted to get me killed.”
    â€œNot anything.”
    â€œBut you would,” I said. “You’d give me anything.”
    â€œThat’s right. Just so I could be sure it would get you killed.” Her breath was coming too fast and there was a hot depth in her eyes.
    I wrote a short note, clipped it to the check and put it on the empty pillow beside Tally. When I looked up I said, “I’ll see if I can’t arrange it that way. Come on.”
    Downstairs I found a neighbor who, for twenty bucks, would stay with Tally, and a doctor who, for another twenty, would look in on her at intervals. A quick call to Augie got me a guy who would stake out the house and make sure everything went okay.
    When I came out of the phone booth Irish was waiting, nicely tucked into a mink that did nothing to disguise the contempt she felt when she had to look at me.
    But that was okay too. It’s more fun catching a mouse than playing with one and she was some mouse.
    I steered her outside, waved a cab over and nudged her in. I told the driver the name of a club and leaned back. Irish looked across the seat at me, the contempt clouded by curiosity. “Why all the business with Tally?”
    â€œBecause anybody who hates so hard is bound to have something I can use,” I said.
    â€œUse for what?”
    â€œTo find Bennett’s killer.”
    â€œA very noble crusade.”
    â€œAnd you want me to get killed.”
    â€œMore than that, remember? I want to be there to see it happen.”
    â€œAren’t you afraid you’ll get sick?”
    â€œMaybe, but it will be worth it.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I hate too. I hate just as hard as Tally. I hate whatever turns little kids into filthy, immoral things who can turn on their own kind for something like money or power. I hate the political lusts and greed that drive decent people to the wall so one person can be big. I hate that so hard I could spit and that’s why I hate you.”
    â€œAnd yet you’re Lenny Sobel’s... friend?” There was contempt in my voice now.
    â€œIt’s a point you probably couldn’t understand,” she said, “but I’ll tell you anyway.” The corners of her eyes drew up in nearly oriental points. “By being his... friend, I can exert enough influence to make it easier on... some people.”
    â€œAnd maybe rougher on others?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œHave you ever forgotten the night on the roof by the chimney?”
    â€œNo.”
    I grinned to myself.
    â€œBut that doesn’t stop my wanting to be there when you get killed. I’ll give anything to see it happen.”
    â€œAnything?”
    She nodded earnestly. “Anything.”

Chapter Five
    When they tore the guts out of Fifty-second Street, one of the bistros was overpaid for expediency’s sake, changed its name from The Kickoff to The Signature, and with a small move north and the perversity that belongs only to New York, became an overnight bang and by now a two-year success story.
    It had good food, smooth music, premium beer and whisky and top prices, and you still needed reservations even for lunch unless you were big enough to bandy Lenny Sobel’s name around and make it stick.
    When we got out of the taxi, Irish Helen’s face was beautifully quizzical, not so much at me as at herself, not knowing whether to stick it or run out.
    I overtipped the driver a buck for luck, took her arm and started toward the door.
    She said, “You know where you’re going, don’t you?”
    â€œSure,” I nodded. “Your