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I parked the heap around the corner from Keenan's house, sat in the dark for a ot out When I sla off the rocker panels and dropping onto the street It wasn't going to be like that er

The gun was in a bandolier holster and lay against lad of that It lent the whole crazy business a touch of irony Maybe even a sense of justice

Keenan's house was an architecturalangles and steep-sloped roofs behind an iron fence He'd left the gate unlocked, as I'd hoped Earlier I'd seen hi to deny told e The waiting was over; this was ht

I walked to the driveway, staying close to the shrubbery and listening for any strange sound over the cutting whine of the January wind There wasn't any It was Friday night, and Keenan's sleep-ina jolly time at somebody's Tupperware party Nobody ho -- although he didn't know it yet -- for me

The carport was open and I slipped inside The ebony shadow of Keenan's Impala loomed I tried the back door The car was also open Keenan wasn't cut out to be a villain, I reflected; he was ot in the car, sat down, and waited

Now I could hear the faint sound of jazz on the wind, very quiet, very good Miles Davis, in fizz in one manicured hand Nice for him

It was a long wait The hands on ht-thirty to nine to ten Tiht about Barney, and that wasn't strictly a ht about how he looked in that snoises He'd been adrift for two days and looked like a boiled lobster There was black blood encrusted across his midsection where he'd been shot

He'd steered toward the cottage as best he could, but still it had been otten there, lucky he could still talk for a little while I'd had a fistful of sleeping pills ready if he couldn't talk I didn't want him to suffer Not unless there was a reason for it, anyway As it turned out, there was He had a story to tell, a real whopper, and he told me almost all of it

When he was dead, I went back to the boat and got his45 It was hidden aft in a small compartment, wrapped in a waterproof pouch Then I towed his boat out into deep water and sank it If I could have put an epitaph over his head, it would have been the one about how there's a sucker born every uys, too, I bet -- just like Barney Instead, I started trying to find the men who capped him It had taken six e was, at least, somewhere close by, but I'm a persistent little pup, and here I was

At ten-twenty, headlights splashed up the curving driveway and I lay on the floor of the I up close to Keenan's car It sounded like one of the old Volkswagens The little engine died and I could hear Sarge grunting softly as he fought his way out of the little car The porch light went on, and the sound of the door clicking open came to me

Keenan: "Sarge! You're late! Come on in and have a drink"

Sarge: "Scotch"

I'd unrolled thebefore Now I stuck Barney's45 through it, holding the stock with both hands "Stand still," I said

The Sarge was halfway up the porch steps Keenan, the perfect host, had co for him to come up so he could after-you him into the house They were both perfect silhouettes in the light spilling through from inside I doubted if they could see un It was a big gun

"Who the hell are you?" Keenan asked

"Jerry Tarkanian," I said "Move and I'll put a hole in you big enough to watch television through"

"You sound like a punk," Sarge said He didn't h

"Just don't ot to worry about" I opened the I at litter of his little eyes One hand was creeping up the lapel of his 1943-model double-breasted suit