"Two," said Moe.
"One seventy-five."
"Two."
"Go find it and put it back."
"Gimme the buck-six," grunted Moe. "Pretty cheap for a good shoe, a
wheel, and a sausage."
"Bring it in alone next time, and I'll slip you two-fifty. That gang you
use costs, too. Now scram, Jimmy James and I got business to talk over."
"He taking over?"
"Don't talk stupid. I need a spotter. You're too old, Moe. And if he's
any good, you gotta promotion coming."
"And if he ain't?"
"Don't come back!"
Moe eyed Jimmy Holden. "Make it good--Jimmy." There was malice in Moe's
face.
Jake looked down at Jimmy Holden. With precisely the same experienced
technique he used to estimate the value of a car loaded with road dirt,
rust, and collision-smashed fenders, Jake stripped the child of the
dirty clothing, the scuffed shoes, the mussed hair, and saw through to
the value beneath. Its price was one thousand dollars, offered with no
questions asked for information that would lead to the return of one
James Quincy Holden to his legal guardian.
It wasn't magic on Jake's part. Paul Brennan had instantly offered a
reward. And Jake made it his business to keep aware of such matters.
How soon, wondered Jake, might the ante be raised to two Gee? Five? And
in the meantime, if things panned, Jimmy could be useful as a spotter.
"You afraid of that Moe punk, Jimmy?"
"No sir."
"Good, but keep an eye on him. He'd sell his mother for fifty cents clear
profit--seventy-five if he had to split the deal. Now, kid, do you know
anything about spotting?"
"No sir."
"Hungry?"
"Yes sir."
"All right. Come on in and we'll eat. Do you like Mulligan?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. You and me are going to get along."
Inside of the squalid shack, Jake had a cozy set-up. The filth that he
encouraged out in the junkyard was not tolerated inside his shack. The
dividing line was halfway across the edge of the door; the inside was as
clean, neat, and shining as the outside was squalid.
"You'll sleep here," said Jake, waving towards a small bedroom with a
single twin bunk. "You'll make yer own bed and take a shower every
night--or out! Understand?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Now, let's have chow, and I'll tell you about this spotting
business. You help me, and I'll help you. One blab and back you go to
where you came from. Get it?"
"Yes sir."
And so, while the police of a dozen cities were scouring their beats for
a homeless, frightened five-year-old, Jimmy Holden slept in a comfortable
bed in a clean room, absolutely disguised by an exterior that looked like
an abandoned manure shed.