"Well" -- said Mr. Skyros. "I take a little time to think it over". It was awkward: very awkward. There would be all the nuisance of contacting someone else to take over. Someone reasonably trustworthy. And Angie would hear about it. And Angie knew -- "Time", said Angie, and he smiled very sweet and slow at Mr. Skyros. "Not too much time, because I'll be needing some more myself pretty much right away. And I done favors for you, big favor not so long back, didn't I, and I'm right here to take on where Pretty left off. No trouble. I don't want no trouble, you don't want no trouble, nobody wants trouble, Mr. Skyros". Dear heaven, no, thought Mr. Skyros, turning away as another man came in. He straightened his tie at the mirror with a shaking hand; the genial smile seemed painted on his face. Angie knew -- Speak of dangerous information! Angie knew too much entirely already. Really he had Mr. Skyros at bay "Big favor I done you. Acourse there's this deal o' Denny's -- and Jackie's -- kinda hangin' fire, ain't it, maybe you've been kinda worryin' over that. And can't say I blame you", said Angie thoughtfully. "This deal with the ace o' spades. Anything to do with an ace o' spades, bad luck". Ace of spades -- a widow, that was what they called a widow, these low-class crooks remembered Mr. Skyros distractedly. All about that Angie knew, too. When things got a little out of hand, they very rapidly got a lot out of hand -- it seemed to be a general rule. All just by chance, and in a way tracing back to poor Frank, all of it, because naturally -- brothers, living together -- and Angie -- Mr. Skyros did not at all like the look on Angelo's regular-featured, almost girlishly good-looking face -- or indeed anything about Angelo. Mr. Skyros was not a man who thought very much about moral principles; he found money much more interesting; but all the same he thought now, uneasily, of the way in which Angelo earned his living -- and paid for his own stuff -- and eyed the soft smile, and the spaniel-like dark eyes, and he felt a little ill. "Look, my friend", he said, "in my life I learn, how is it the proverb says, better an ounce of prevention to a pound of cure. I stay in business so long because I'm careful. Two weeks, a month, we talk it over again, and maybe if nothing happens meanwhile to say the cops know this and that, then we make a little deal, isn't it"? "That's a long while", said Angie. "I tell you, you want to leave it that way, I don't fool around with it. I go over to Castro and get fixed up there. I can't wait no two weeks". And Mr. Skyros didn't like Angie, but what with Prettyman and three of his boys inside, and not likely to come out -- And Angie such a valuable salesman, Prettyman said -- All the nuisance and danger of getting in touch with practically a whole new bunch of boys -- Why did everything have to happen at once? Denny said stupidly, "Why, you ain't turning Angie down, are you, Mr. Skyros? I mean, we all figured -- I guess anybody'd figure -- Angie" -- Angelo gave him an affectionate smile. "Mr. Skyros too smart a fellow want to get rid of me", he said. "It's O.K., Denny, everything's O.K. Ain't it, Mr. Skyros"? Oh, God, the name repeated over and over, anybody to hear -- Not being a fool, Mr. Skyros knew why. But aside from everything else, it would scarcely be pleasant to have dealings with one who was nominally an underling and actually held -- you could say -- the whip hand. And all because of Domokous! If Mr. Skyros had dreamed of all the trouble that young man would eventually cause -- Of course, there was another factor. Angie worth his weight in gold right now, but these users, they sometimes went down fast. Who knew, Angie might not last long. The sweat broke out on Mr. Skyros' forehead as he realized he had been actually thinking -- hoping -- planning -- perhaps -- Good God above, had not Domokous been enough? He patted Angelo's thin shoulder paternally. "Now you don't want to go talking that way", he said. "Sure, sure, you're the one take over for Pretty, soon as I get the supply, get started up again, isn't it? You don't need worry, Angelo. I tell you, I know how it is with you, my friend, I sympathize, and I'll make it a special point -- a special favor -- get in touch, and get some stuff just for you. I don't know if I can manage it tonight or tomorrow, but I'll try my best, my friend. You see, you got to remember, we all got schedules, like any business! My man, he won't be around a little while, he just fixed me up with this stuff they took out of the Elite. It's awkward, you see that, isn't it"? "Well, that's your business, Mr. Skyros", said Angie, and his dreamy eyes moved past Mr. Skyros' shoulder to gaze vaguely out the ground-glass window. "I appreciate it, you do that. Sure. We don't none of us want no trouble. I'm in a room over the Golden Club on San Pedro, you just ask for me there, you want see me. Or maybe I call you -- tonight? About nine o'clock, I call and see if you got any. A couple decks for me, Mr. Skyros -- and ten-twelve to sell, see, I like to have a little ready cash". "Oh, now, I don't know about that much", said Mr. Skyros. "And you know, Angelo, Pretty, he always keeps it a strict cash basis, like they say" -- "Sure", said Angie. "Sure, Mr. Skyros. Fifty a throw, that the deal? Sure. I bring you the cash, say five hundred for ten decks. Never mind how much I cut it, how much I get", and he smiled his sleepy smile again. "Standard deal, Mr. Skyros. You go 'n' have a look round for it". "I do my best", said Mr. Skyros earnestly, "just for you, my friend. This is awkward for everybody, isn't it, we all got to put up with inconvenience sometimes. But I do my best for you". He got out of there in a hurry, brushing past another man in the door, mopping his brow. The expedient thing -- yes, very true, one must make do as one could, in some situations. It could all be straightened out later. Not very much later, but when things had settled down a little. After this deal with the Bouvardier woman went through. An ace of spades. He was not a superstitious man, but he felt perhaps there was a little something in that, indeed. He rather wished he had never got into the business, and still -- scarcely to be resisted, a nice little profit with not much work involved, easy money Katya Roslev, who would be Katharine Ross so very soon now, rang up her first sale of the day and counted back the change. She did not notice that the customer seized her purchase and turned away without a smile or a word of thanks. Usually she marked the few who did thank you, you didn't get that kind much in a place like this: and she played a little game with herself, seeing how downright rude she could act to the others, before they'd take offense, threaten to call the manager. Funny how seldom they did: used to it, probably. The kind who came into a cheap store like this! Grab, snatch, I saw that first! And, Here, I'll take this, I was before her, you wait on me now or I don't bother with it, see! This kind of place She'd be through here, just no time at all -- leave this kind of thing 'way behind. Off at noon, and she'd never come back. Never have to. Money -- a lot of money, enough. She'd be smart about it, get him to give it to her in little bills so's nobody would suspect -- maybe couldn't get it until Monday account of that, the banks -- But that wasn't really long to wait. Not when she'd waited so long already. No need say anything at all to the old woman. She had it all planned out, how she'd do. She'd say she didn't feel good on Sunday, couldn't go to church -- there'd be a little argument, but she could be stubborn -- and when the old woman had gone, quick pack the things she'd need to take, all but the dress she'd wear Monday, and take the bag down to that place in the station where you could put things in a locker overnight, for a dime. Then on Monday morning -- or it might have to be Tuesday -- get up and leave just the usual time, and last thing, put the money in an envelope under the old woman's purse there in the drawer. She wouldn't be going to get that for an hour or so after Katya had left, go do the daily shopping. No need leave a note with it, either -- or maybe just something like, Don't worry about me, I'm going away to make a better life. A better life. Escape. It wasn't as if she wanted much. She didn't mind working hard, not as if she figured to do anything wrong to live easy and soft -- all she wanted was a chance, where she wasn't marked as what she was. To be Katharine Ross, and work in a nicer shop somewhere, at a little more money so she could have prettier clothes, and learn ladies' manners and all like that, and get to know different people than up to now, not just the ones like her here, with foreign-sounding names, the ones went to the same church and -- Different place, different job, different people, she'd be all different too. Prettier, she'd do her hair another way; smarter, and wear different kinds of clothes -- she'd be Katharine Ross, just what that sounded like. "You've give me the wrong change", said the customer sharply. "Think I can't count"? Katya made up the amount in indifferent silence. She was listening to other voices, out of the future. Some of those vaguely-imagined new, different people. Oh, Katharine's awfully nice, and pretty too, I like Katharine -- Let's ask Katharine to go with us, she's always lots of fun -- Katharine -- Soon, very soon now sixteen Mendoza didn't wake until nearly nine-thirty. It was going to be another hot day; already the thermometer stood close to ninety. Alison was still sound asleep; he made fresh coffee and searched through all the desk drawers for more cigarettes before thinking of her handbag, and found a crumpled stray cigarette at its bottom, which tasted peculiarly of face powder. He left a note propped on the desk asking her to call him sometime today, and drove home. After he'd got out fresh liver for Bast, he paused to look at her crouched daintily over her dish. Surely she was just a trifle fatter around the middle? He seemed to remember reading somewhere that Abyssinians had large litters, and suffered a dismaying vision of the apartment overrun with a dozen kittens. "Y que sigue despues? -- What then"? He asked her severely. "A lot of people are so peculiar that they don't like cats, it's not the easiest thing in the world to find good homes for kittens -- and, damn it, you know very well if I have them around long, impossible to give them away! And I suppose now that you've finally grown up, if a little late, you'd go on producing kittens every six months or so. Yes, well, it's a pity to spoil your girlish figure -- which all those kittens would do anyway -- but I think when you've raised these we'll just have the vet fix it so there won't be any more. I wonder if the Carters would take one. And it's no good looking at me like that", as she wound affectionately around his ankles.