VW down the road a couple of miles. It was clean, and it handled all right. When Tom stopped at the cabin that night, I counted out ten hundred-dollar bills. Tom held each up to his ear and crackled it slowly. "Come on, Tom," I said. "You know you can't tell the amount on a bill from the sound."
"I c'n tell if'n it's good or bad paper," he said dryly. "I'll check on the denom'nation later."
"Let me know when you have the license, title and registration."
He nodded and started to shuffle away.
"Oh, Tom!" I called after him. He turned and came back. I disliked putting the direct question, but I knew no way to maneuver around it. "What do you hear about the Golden Peacock these days?"
"It in business," he said, and waited.
"Sebastian still running it?"
"Last I heard he in Europe."
"Europe?"
"Vacation," Blind Tom explained.
It figured when I thought about it. Sebastian had disappeared, and whoever was running the club wouldn't know for sure from day to day when he might reappear. Some sort of story would have to be put out. "Thanks, Torn,"! said, and the old man went surefootedly down the path.
I was beginning to have second thoughts about the Golden Peacock. Through a combination of circumstances, some fortunate and some not, I had acquired a new face that no one could connect with the old one. If I went to Mobile, the task I'd be setting for myself would be to move in as a total stranger and convince someone that I was one of the regulars without giving away my past identity. But if it wasn't the Golden Peacock, then what was my next move?
What put me in a real squeeze was my short bankroll. I hadn't been so low on cash in years. By the time I felt it was reasonably safe to leave Blind Tom's, I wasn't going to have money enough left to lallygag around the Golden Peacock while I did a selling job on the new operator. Either I made a quick sale and acquired some helpful information, or I made a move for myself.
I'm not a worrier ordinarily, but nights in the tree-rustling darkness I found myself staring up at the dim outline of the cabin's rough plank ceiling, thinking myself into the dead ends of blind corners.
***
When my cash shrank to eighteen hundred dollars, I told Tom I'd be moving on. I took a final swim in the river, stopped to pay my respects to Cordelia, who intimated that she couldn't care less, walked down to the office with my extra slacks and sport shirt over my arms, and headed the VW west on the highway.
Clothing was another problem, I decided as I drove. I'd always been fussy about my clothes, without being fancy, but right now I was outfitted for a backwoods camp and nothing else. I didn't want to spend any money on clothes until I took care of something else first. I had one more expenditure coming up, and I turned south to drop down into Pensacola to take care of it.
Under "Wigs," the Yellow Pages listed five places of business. The first was in a run-down neighborhood, and I kept on going. The second looked better, and I pulled around the corner from it and parked. In the windows of the shop I approached there were wigs of all kinds, but only women's. There were no customers inside. A single clerk, a big blonde with a high-piled hairdo in the twisting curlicue Mae West style, stood near the door. A second look disclosed that it wasn't only the hairdo that made the blonde resemble Mae West.
Shrewd blue eyes examined me in detail while I fumbled for an opening line. "You need a hairpiece," the blonde informed me.
I was relieved to have her take the bull by the horns. "I didn't see any men's-you take care of men, too?"
"We'll take care of a rhesus monkey if he's got the price," she declared cheerfully.
"Yes, but-" I reached up and removed my broad-brimmed hat, then touched the top of my skull. "This is kind of
"I c'n tell if'n it's good or bad paper," he said dryly. "I'll check on the denom'nation later."
"Let me know when you have the license, title and registration."
He nodded and started to shuffle away.
"Oh, Tom!" I called after him. He turned and came back. I disliked putting the direct question, but I knew no way to maneuver around it. "What do you hear about the Golden Peacock these days?"
"It in business," he said, and waited.
"Sebastian still running it?"
"Last I heard he in Europe."
"Europe?"
"Vacation," Blind Tom explained.
It figured when I thought about it. Sebastian had disappeared, and whoever was running the club wouldn't know for sure from day to day when he might reappear. Some sort of story would have to be put out. "Thanks, Torn,"! said, and the old man went surefootedly down the path.
I was beginning to have second thoughts about the Golden Peacock. Through a combination of circumstances, some fortunate and some not, I had acquired a new face that no one could connect with the old one. If I went to Mobile, the task I'd be setting for myself would be to move in as a total stranger and convince someone that I was one of the regulars without giving away my past identity. But if it wasn't the Golden Peacock, then what was my next move?
What put me in a real squeeze was my short bankroll. I hadn't been so low on cash in years. By the time I felt it was reasonably safe to leave Blind Tom's, I wasn't going to have money enough left to lallygag around the Golden Peacock while I did a selling job on the new operator. Either I made a quick sale and acquired some helpful information, or I made a move for myself.
I'm not a worrier ordinarily, but nights in the tree-rustling darkness I found myself staring up at the dim outline of the cabin's rough plank ceiling, thinking myself into the dead ends of blind corners.
***
When my cash shrank to eighteen hundred dollars, I told Tom I'd be moving on. I took a final swim in the river, stopped to pay my respects to Cordelia, who intimated that she couldn't care less, walked down to the office with my extra slacks and sport shirt over my arms, and headed the VW west on the highway.
Clothing was another problem, I decided as I drove. I'd always been fussy about my clothes, without being fancy, but right now I was outfitted for a backwoods camp and nothing else. I didn't want to spend any money on clothes until I took care of something else first. I had one more expenditure coming up, and I turned south to drop down into Pensacola to take care of it.
Under "Wigs," the Yellow Pages listed five places of business. The first was in a run-down neighborhood, and I kept on going. The second looked better, and I pulled around the corner from it and parked. In the windows of the shop I approached there were wigs of all kinds, but only women's. There were no customers inside. A single clerk, a big blonde with a high-piled hairdo in the twisting curlicue Mae West style, stood near the door. A second look disclosed that it wasn't only the hairdo that made the blonde resemble Mae West.
Shrewd blue eyes examined me in detail while I fumbled for an opening line. "You need a hairpiece," the blonde informed me.
I was relieved to have her take the bull by the horns. "I didn't see any men's-you take care of men, too?"
"We'll take care of a rhesus monkey if he's got the price," she declared cheerfully.
"Yes, but-" I reached up and removed my broad-brimmed hat, then touched the top of my skull. "This is kind of
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