"That's a strange situation," Leo said. "I never heard of anything like that before."

"One's a skinny guy with long hair, one's a colored guy. I thought maybe the third guy was you."

Leo laughed, made a sound that resembled a laugh.

"Why'd you think that? I mean why'd you think I was one of them?"

"I don't know, I guess it's just a feeling. The fact you run this place. You see all types of guys come in and out."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Well, there was a girl involved in this. She used to work here."

"Man, there're fifty girls used to work here. Turnover, man, I guess you have it in your business-guys quitting, absenteeism, that kind of situation-but, man, nothing like I got to put up with."

"You're right there," Mitchell said. "I guess every business's got its problems like that."

Leo couldn't take his eyes off the stack of hundred-dollar bills. "That's ten thousand bucks, uh? Doesn't look like what I'd picture ten thousand."

"All hundreds," Mitchell said.

"I'm trying to think of a way I might be able to help you," Leo said, "but I'm stuck. Three guys, man, they could be anybody."

"No, they're somebody," Mitchell said. "The trouble is I got to find them to pay them the dough."

"You want to pay them personally, is that it?"

"See, I was supposed to leave it in a locker out at the airport, but I forgot which one."

"That's a problem." Leo shook his head. "What I mean to say, I wouldn't want to see anybody not get that money if they got it coming."

"They got it coming all right," Mitchell said, "but it's up to them to collect it."

"I sure wish I could help you," Leo said.

"I wish you could too." Mitchell paused. "Well, I might as well be going."

As he started for the door, Leo stood up. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have that picture on you, would you? The one you took?"

Mitchell paused to look at him. "Why?"

"I was just curious how it came out."

"You're in it," Mitchell said. He turned again and walked out.

Leo waited, listening to the footsteps in the hall. There was a silence before he heard the front door close, and again silence. He was still tense and anxious, but he was also proud of himself at the way he'd handled Mitchell, and he wasn't sweating too much. He picked up the phone and dialed Alan's home number. No answer. He tried the theater and was told Alan was out. The son of a bitch, he was never around when you wanted him. Leo decided to go across the Street. Christ, have a couple of drinks.

Leo lived in a duplex on an old tree-shaded Street of two- and four-family flats. Mitchell stood on the porch by the pair of front doors and rang the bell for the lower flat. He waited. The door opened partway and Mitchell saw the stunned, wide-eyed look on Leo's face before he noticed his silky, wrinkled black-and-red pajamas and bare feet.

"How you doing?" Mitchell said.

Leo backed up as Mitchell came in. His stringy hair was uncombed, matted flat against his head; his eyes had a glazed watery look. He said, "How'd you know where I live?"

"I looked it up in the book," Mitchell said. "Mrs. Leo Frank, Jr. That your wife?"

"My mother. She used to live here. I mean we did, we lived here together before she died."

Mitchell looked around, at the dark woodwork and pale-green rough-plaster walls, heavy, velvety-looking draperies, closed, heavy stuffed chairs with doilies on the arms and headrests. Everything was dark and old and reminded him of other living rooms, some in places where he had lived, some in the homes of friends; dark, solemn, never changing.

"I was just putting the water on for coffee," Leo said. "You want some? Or a beer, or a drink?"

"No thanks, but go ahead," Mitchell said. He followed Leo through the dark dining room to the kitchen. There was an old smell to the place. The wallpaper was stained. The linoleum in the kitchen was worn, coming apart at the seams. He watched Leo, at the stove, place the kettle on a burner and turn up the gas.

"You probably wonder what I'm doing here."

"It crossed my mind." Leo opened a cupboard and looked in.

"It was something you said last night."

Leo closed the cupboard and turned to the sink that was full of dishes. He said, "What was that?" and began rinsing a coffee mug.

Mitchell didn't say anything until Leo looked over at him. "We were talking about employee relations."

"We were?"

"In your office last night. You said, 'I guess you have the same problems in your business, absenteeism and so on."

"Yeah?"

"How did you know what business I'm in?"

There was a pause, a silence, and Mitchell felt it, his gaze holding on Leo who was scratching or touching or fooling with the crotch of his red-and-black silky pajamas.

"I don't know what business you're in. I just assumed you're in business. The way you dress and all."

"I could be working for somebody," Mitchell said. "I could be a salesman or an engineer, anything. How'd you know I had my own company?"

"Hey, listen, I'm not even sure now what I said. I was just making a point about it's hard to keep people nowadays, that's all. Am I right? Isn't that what I said?"

"I don't know," Mitchell said. "I had the feeling-I thought about it after, in the car-you knew exactly what I did, the company, everything."

"Man, I don't even know your name."

"It's Mitchell. My company's Ranco Manufacturing."

"It's nice to know you," Leo said, "but listen, man, I think you heard it wrong. I never said I knew what business you're in. We never even talked before. How could I know?"

Mitchell stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, maybe so. I guess I heard you wrong."

"Well-you sure you don't want some coffee?"

"Thanks, but I got to make a call. I was down this way, that's why I stopped in. I'm sorry if I troubled you."

"No, it's no trouble at all. I've probably made the same mistake myself." Leo was behind Mitchell, following him to the front door. As they reached the door, and Leo opened it, the phone rang in the front hall and the kettle began to whistle in the kitchen. "Everything at once," Leo said.

Mitchell wanted to wait. He tried to think of a reason, but Leo was letting it ring, pushing the door closed. "I'll see you around," Leo said. He got Mitchell out and closed the door on him, hurried to the phone in the hall, but it stopped ringing as he reached it. The kettle was still giving off a shrill whistle. Leo got to it, steam pouring out, and took the kettle off the stove. He didn't make a cup of coffee though. He poured a vodka and 7-Up instead. In fact he had three of them while he was getting dressed.

Mitchell sat in his car, four houses down from the duplex. He was watching Leo's house and the white T-bird parked at the curb. He remembered Barbara saying the man who had been in their house, the skinny guy with long hair, had gotten into a white car. Looking at the car-that he hadn't noticed before, when he arrived-the gut feeling was stronger than ever. Thirty minutes later, when Leo Frank came out of the house and got into the white car, Mitchell's gut feeling moved up into his mind where he could look at it and reason and believe-not know, as O'Boyle would say, but believe-that Leo was one of them. Mitchell said to himself, Stay with him.

"Leo, what'd I say? At my office, right? Jesus, you come here."

"I went to your office," Leo said. "Man, you're out to lunch. I got to talk to you."

"You tell me he's following you, so you come here. Jesus."

"No, today I haven't seen the guy at all. Maybe he's quit, I don't know. Yesterday he comes in the studio again. Says hello, that's all. How you doing? Later on I go out have something to eat. I look over, the guy's sitting there having a cup of coffee. I go home last night, I see his car drive by twice, maybe three times."