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face hidden by the highball glass.
    ‘I want to be sure.’
    ‘Go ask him for it then.’
    “I plan to.’ He couldn’t sit here all night beating around the bush—he knew that. Stefanos would be along presently. Stefanos would stop by to make sure things were going on schedule. And Red didn’t want to be there when that happened. Nor did he want Meta to know he was Red Bailey just yet. Might as well shove off because she was wising up fast. He got slowly to his feet.‘I could take you in tonight. I’m not going to. I’m going to give you a few hours to think things over.’ He headed for the door, stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back. She was staring after him, frowning.
    ‘Goodnight,’ Red said. ’And good luck. You’ll need it, baby’ He grinned and let himself into the hall.
    The rain had stopped. The wind was sweeping the clouds south, not being very thorough about it. The worn-out moon struggled wearily across the untidy sky and its anemic light fell like dust on the city. Red came out, looked cautiously up and down the street, then headed east. There should be a cab stand at Forty-Ninth and First and what he needed right now was a cab.
    He was less than a hundred yards away from Meta’s apartment when he heard a motor behind him. Turning he saw a cab coming along the street. He stepped back against the wall, saw the cab pull up, saw Stefanos get out and hurry up the steps. The gears clashed, the cab moved toward him. He ran to the edge of the sidewalk and flagged it down. He jumped inside.
    ‘Hudson River Club,’ Red told the driver. As the cab swung north on First Avenue and picked up speed Red felt fear tightening his stomach muscles. If Meta started telephoning, he was really in trouble. If he had it doped out wrong, that’s what she would do instead of waiting until she talked things over with Stefanos and looked for Eels’ missing body.

Ten
    There was little traffic on the Causeway. The cab picked up speed and the cool wind flowed in, bringing with it the smell of the river. The driver’s flat voice droned on. Occasionally Red answered with a monosyllable. He thought suddenly of Ann and then he stopped worrying about what was going to happen to him. Dusk would be creeping up the shoulders of the Sierras now, softening the granite spires and bald domes. The great meadow would be a pool of darkness. So much at stake. So much to lose. The memory of the girl increased the aching anger in him. Damn them, damn them! If he lost, she would fight at first. She would be loyal at first. Then they’d move in on her—her father and mother, that lump of a game warden, the people of Bridgeport. She’d forget him after a while. And suppose he didn’t lose. Suppose his plan worked. He had killed a man and if it didn’t catch up to him now it might some day. The driver’s voice intruded.
    ‘Gonna do some gambling?’
    ‘I’m toying with the idea,’ Red said.
    ‘You better be well heeled.’ The driver threw a sour grin back at him.
    ‘Tough joint?’
    ‘Just crooked. First time for you?’
    ‘I’ve been away. Who runs it?’
    ‘Lou Baylord.’
    The name meant nothing to Red. ‘Who’s he?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t run around in them circles. Too rich for my blood.’
    ’Joint wide open?’
    ‘Night club part is. You want to gamble, you go upstairs, Baylord looks you over and if you don’t smell like the law he gives you a card.’
    They were crossing the bridge. Red leaned over and peered down at the river. He hoped this wouldn’t be his last look at it. If Mr. Baylord was expecting him it might be.
    ‘Always I get a kick out of this bridge,’ the driver said.  ‘I’m queer for bridges.’
    ‘I’m queer for rivers.’ Red thought of the Kings and the West Walker and the Stanislaus and the Tuolomne. Good names to roll around your mouth. Tough, brawling streams tearing through the canyons. Why in hell did the past have to catch up with him now?
    Ahead lights