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stairs, I felt that something was different. It was my pocketbook. Lighter. Oh, no.
    I stopped and opened it up. My wallet was gone. The sweet old thing! I’d had my purse between us and never noticed. I couldn’t imagine when she’d done it. I thought I was looking at her the whole time. That was it. I was looking at
her.
Misdirection. It was something scam artists did all the time. Magicians, too. I didn’t even hear the clasp of my purse open and shut. She was good. Well, this was some snafu.
    I couldn’t picture myself panhandling for a nickel to get back to Midtown so I knew I was gonna have to tap Widmark. What was the worst that could happen? He could chuck me out of his apartment. So what? I wasn’t gonna hustle him for the five cents till the end of the interview. If he wouldn’t dish out I might have to pass the hat on Broadway after all.
    I had to put this dilemma on the back burner and concentrate on what I was gonna ask Widmark. I climbed the stairs to the street and headed for 145 West Eighty-sixth.
    But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Me, clipped like any regular mark. My mind went right to the boys at Stork’s. I could see them laughing, Fat Freddy holding his bellies. Well, they never had to know. I sure wasn’t gonna wag the tongue to those mugs.
    And Johnny? Did I have to spill to him? He’d think I was an easy target. Maybe not. He wasn’t like that. He’d understand.
    I wouldn’t tell him.
    The people on the street looked like limp linguini. It was getting hotter by the second. I picked up my pace so I could get into a building away from the sun. I turned on Eighty-sixth toward Amsterdam. Nice trees there.
    Pretty soon I was at 145. Naturally there was a doorman but he wasn’t quite as spiffy looking as the ones on Park Avenue. His gray uniform was slightly shabby. No gold braid. And the brim of the cap he wore had lost its sheen.
    I said I was there to see Mr. Widmark. He rang him, then told me to go up to the tenth floor, Apartment 10B.
    I knew when the elevator came down the operator would be as old as they all were—now that the young ones were in the army. So when the doors opened, I was knocked back on my heels.
    There was a jane at the controls. I’d never seen a girl running one before, but why not? Girls were doing almost everything else. I guessed that the old men were getting too old to do a lot of things.
    She was in full uniform: jacket, pants, the whole thing. Miss Operator gave me the fisheye.
    “You gonna stare all day or get on?”
    “Sorry.” I stepped into the elevator.
    “What floor?”
    “Tenth.”
    “Who ya gonna see?”
    I had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to ask, but I told her anyway.
    “Nice fella.”
    As long as she was gonna be personal about this I decided I would, too.
    “He get a lotta visitors?”
    “Not too many. I think his girlfriend threw him over. She came in the beginnin, but I ain’t seen her lately.”
    I wondered if she meant Claire Turner.
    “Tenth floor.”
    It was a smooth landing.
    “He’s right over there.” She pointed across the hall.
    “Thanks.”
    “Poor guy,” she said.
    I turned, but the doors had closed. Was she still talking about him being jilted? Or was it something else? I’d probably never know.
    I rang Widmark’s bell.
    “Come in,” he shouted.
    Some gentleman. I opened the door. There was a small foyer, but I could see the living room—and Widmark. He was sitting there. In a wheelchair. Now I knew what the elevator operator meant.
    “Come in, Miss Quick. Sit down.” He pointed to the striped sofa.
    I sat where he wanted me to. There was no question I was thrown off my game by him being in the wheelchair and I musta showed it.
    “No one told you, I gather?”
    “Told me?”
    He sighed like he’d been through this a million times. “That I’d lost my legs at Guadalcanal.”
    “No. No one told me.”
    “Well, don’t worry. I’m used to it.”
    Widmark was a handsome guy. He had a ginger crew cut