The man entered the room and stood silent while Les got out his file.
"What do you want it for?" he asked.
"It is for my personal--use."
"Sure." Les handed the glossy to the man he identified in his own mind
as Matson. "That the one?"
After a grave inspection, the other replied, "Yes. How much does it
cost--me?"
"Ten bucks?"
Without comment, the man sorted a ten-dollar bill from a skimpy roll he
took from his pocket and handed it to Les. With that, he turned and
walked out, closing the door after him and leaving several questions in
Les King's mind. Was this a vanity operation? Had the guy merely wanted
a glossy of himself? He hadn't impressed Les as being that kind of man.
Was there a reason for wanting the pic off the market? That didn't make
sense either because he hadn't asked for the negative.
Quite suddenly, in answer to the really important, the nagging,
question, Les snapped his fingers. The hem of his dressing gown flapped
around his skinny legs as he dived to his old file rack and went back
where the dust was thick. He brought out an envelope, dug into it, and
found what he was looking for--an old newspaper clipping dated some ten
years back. It consisted of a headline: