in knocking Waller aside. He closed the door and looked around the room. The bathroom was along the wall behind where the door opened.

"Fat Freddie," he growled at Waller. "I'll be in there," he jerked his head toward the bathroom. "Lead him toward the window."

Waller nodded at the man. Freddie had a shiny, bald head that glistened with grease. Rolls of yellow fat sagged down the side of his neck. He wore baggy, gray trousers and a short-sleeved shirt that revealed thick, hairy arms. He stood motionless in the doorway of the bathroom. Neither man spoke as the minutes dragged by.

At seven-thirty sharp, there was a loud knock on the door. Waller felt his heart race and his hands tremble. Freddie slithered back into the bathroom and pushedagain," Waller thought as he stuffed the envelope under his bed.

He went out onto the deck and sipped on a beer. "Just run a little dope now and then," he smiled into the darkness.

Half a continent away in a non-descript building in Brooklyn, three men sat at a table. In front of them was a list of names. It had been decided that the usual professionals were out. They could be traced back. Smoke wafted into the air as name after name was scratched from the list. Soon just two remained.

A stocky man rubbed a two-day growth of beard and muttered, "Marcello has always delivered."

"We don't exist down there. I like that. He can't be tied to us in any way," the second man said. He was a