I paused for just a second.

«If you really want to know what I think, I'd say you've murdered a dozen innocent guys already. I'd say that you've got a wad in your pocket that would choke a horse. I'd say that you've got something on your conscience—and you came here to drown it. I'd say that you know why those girls got up suddenly and ran across the street. I'd say that if we knew all about you you might be eligible for the electric chair...»

Completely out of breath, I stopped and mechanically rubbed my jaw, as if surprised to find it still intact. Monahan, unable to hold himself in any longer, burst out with an alarming guffaw.

«You're crazy,» he said, «crazy as a bedbug, but I like you. Go on, talk some more. Say the worst you know—I want to hear it.» And with that he called the waiter over and ordered another round. «You're right about one thing,» he added, «I have got a wad in my pocket. Want to see it?» He fished out a roll of greenbacks, flipped them under my nose, like a cardsharper. «Go on now, give it to me...!»

The sight of the money derailed me. My one thought was how to separate him from some of his ill-gained boodle.

«It was a bit crazy, all that stuff I just handed you,» I began, adopting another tone. «I'm surprised you didn't haul off and crack me. My nerves are on edge, I guess...»

«Don't have to tell me,» said Monahan.

I adopted a still more conciliatory tone. «Let me tell you something about myself,» I continued in an even voice, and in a few brief strokes I outlined my position in the Cosmodemonic skating rink, my relationship with O'Rourke, the company detective, my ambition to be a writer, my visits to the psychopathic ward, and so on. Just enough to let him know that I was not a dreamer. The mention of O'Rourke's name impressed him. O'Rourke's brother (as I well knew) was Monahan's boss and he stood in awe of him.

«And you pal around with O'Rourke?»

«He's a great friend of mine,» said I. «A man I respect. He's almost a father to me. I learned something about human nature from him. O'Rourke's a big man doing a small job. He belongs somewhere else, where I don't know. However, he seems satisfied to be where he is, though he's working himself to death. What galls me is that he isn't appreciated.»

I went on in this vein, extolling O'Rourke's virtues, indicating none too subtly the comparison between O'Rourke's methods and those of the ordinary flat-foot.

My words were producing the effect intended. Monahan was visibly wilting, softening like a sponge.

«You've got me wrong,» he finally burst out. «I've got as big a heart as the next guy, only I don't show it. You can't go around exposing yourself—not on this job. We ain't all like O'Rourke, I'll grant you, but we're human, b'Jesus! You're an idealist, that's what's the matter with you. You want perfection...» He gave me a strange look, mumbled to himself. Then he continued in a clear, calm voice: «The more you talk the more I like you. You've got something I once had. I was ashamed of it then... you know, afraid of being a sissy or something. Life hasn't spoiled you—that's what I like about you. You know what it's like and yet it doesn't make you sour or mean. You said some pretty nasty things a while back, and to tell you the truth, I was going to take a swing at you. Why didn't I? Because you weren't talking to me: you were aiming at all the guys like me who got off the track somewhere. You sound personal, but you ain't. You're talking to the world all the time. You should have been a preacher, do you realize that? You and O'Rourke, you're a good team. I mean it. We guys have a job to do and we don't get any fun out of it; you guys work for the pleasure of it. And what's more... well, never mind... Look, give me your hand...» He reached for my free hand and grasped it in a vice. «You see», (I winced as he applied the pressure) «I could squeeze your hand to a pulp. I wouldn't have to make a pass at you. I could just sit like this, talking to you, looking straight at you, and crush your hand to a pulp. That's the strength I have.»

He relaxed his grip and I withdrew my hand quickly. It felt numb, paralyzed.

«There's nothing to that, you see,» he went on. «That's dumb brute strength; you've got another kind of strength which I lack. You could make mince meat of me with that tongue of yours. You've got a brain.» He looked away, as if absent-minded. «How is your hand?» he said, dreamy-like. «I didn't hurt you, did I?»

I felt it with my other hand. It was limp and useless.

«It's all right, I guess.»

He looked me through and through, then laughingly he burst out: «I'm hungry. Let's eat something.»

We went downstairs and inspected the kitchen first. He wanted me to see how clean everything was: went about picking up carving knives and cleavers, holding them up to the light for me to examine and admire.

«I had to chop a guy down with one of these once.» He brandished a cleaver. «Split him in two, clean as a whistle.»

Taking my arm affectionately he led me back upstairs. «Henry,» says he, «we're going to be pals. You're going to tell me more about yourself—and you're going to let me help you. You've got a wife—very beautiful too.» I gave an involuntary jerk. He tightened his grip on my arm and led me to the table.

«Henry, let's talk straight for a change. I know a thing or two, even if I don't look it.» Pause. «Get your wife out of that joint!»

I was just about to say «What joint?» when he resumed: «A guy can get mixed up in all sorts of things and come out clean—sometimes. But a woman's different. You don't like to see her working there, with those dizzy fluffs, do you? Find out what's keeping her there. Don't get sore now... I'm not trying to hurt your feelings. I don't know anything about your wife—that is, any more than I've heard...»

«She's not my wife,» I blurted out.

«Well, whatever she is to you,» he said smoothly, as if that were quite an unimportant detail, «get her out of that joint! I'm telling you like a friend. I know what I'm talking about.»

I began to put two and two together, rapidly, fitfully. My mind shifted back to Florrie and Hannah, to their sudden exit. Was there going to be a raid, a shake-up—or a shake-down? Was he trying to warn me?

He must have divined what was going on in my head, for the next thing out of his mouth was this: «If she has to have a job let me try to find her something. She could do something else, couldn't she? An attractive girl like her...»

«Let's drop it,» I said, «and thanks for the tip.»

For a while we ate in silence. Then, apropos of nothing, Monahan took out the fat wad of greenbacks and peeled off two fifty dollar bills. He placed them beside my plate. «Take them,» he said «and put 'em in your pocket. Let her try the theatre, why don't you?» He lowered his head to shovel a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. I picked up the bills and quietly shoved them into my trousers pocket.

As soon as I could free myself I set off to meet Mona in front of the dance hall. I was in a strange mood.

My head was spinning a bit as I rolled merrily along towards Broadway. I was determined to be cheerful, though something told me I had reason to be otherwise. The meal and the few parting shots that Monahan had succeeded in driving home had sobered me up somewhat. I felt large and luxuriant, in a mood to enjoy my own thoughts. Euphoric, as Kronski would say. To me that always meant being happy for no reason. Just being happy, knowing you're happy, and staying happy no matter what any one says or does. It wasn't alcoholic joy; the whiskies may have precipitated the mood, but nothing more. It wasn't some underneath self that was cropping out—it was rather an overhead self, if I might put it that way. With each step I took the fumes of the liquor evaporated; my mind was growing almost frighteningly clear.