“Seven up, twenty-one down. I was going to win a hand if I had to stay here all night. Lizabeth had left her cigarette butt on the table, standing upright on its filter tip. I got up and tossed it in the potbellied stove. There. That was better. I sat back down. I knew what her parting ‘Who called the taxi’ meant of course. The Schooler didn’t need to have me tailed. All he had to do was call a hackie who was on the pad. Smart, Schroeder, well done and executed. I slapped a black two on a red th...ree, a red eight on a black nine. I turned over an ace. About time. The question was why The Schooler cared. My trip to National City Bank told him something important. I cast my mind back to the Moreland Courts. Something hadn’t fit. I remembered my excitement, the fat pigskin satchel. And momentary suspicion. The Schooler keeping a big bag of hot snaps on the premises. Why risk it? There was only one logical explanation. He wouldn’t. He knew, the son of a bitch knew from day one! A sharp guy like The Schooler wouldn’t have trusted the FBI.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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