The Jugger
“He put the paper down and looked around the room, and everything was clean and ordinary. He walked over and opened the door. The little guy standing there was dressed like he was kidding around. Dark green trousers, black-and-white shoes, orange shirt with black string tie, tweed sport jacket with leather elbow patches. The fluffy corners of a lavender handkerchief peeped up from his jacket pocket. His left hand was negligently tucked into his trouser pocket, and his right hand was stuck inside his jacket like an imitation of Napoleon. He had the lined and leathery weasel face of an alky or a tout, and he was both. He was somewhere past forty, short of eighty. He grinned, showing big bad teeth, and said, 'Parker, you're an ugly man. You're uglier with the new face, and that's a wonder.' Parker recognized him. His name was Tiftus and he claimed to be a lock man. Parker had never worked with him because he was too unreliable. Tiftus grinned some more and said, 'Invite me in, why don't you?
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