“Now, what in the world could he possibly do? I mean, really, Hogg—”

“He’s a little freak. You should see ’im work. Besides, anything that’s a little different is gonna be more effective, right? A nigger, or a kid. Like you say … psychologically.”

Mr. Jonas’ frown was as nervous as his smile. “Are you sure I couldn’t pay you with a check for this one? That’s almost … let me see: two hundred plus three-hundred-and-fifty, times three is … sixteen-hundred bucks!” The bucks came pretty natural.

“I told you, I don’t got no bank account no more. And I gotta pay these guys in cash. Guys like this wouldn’t know what to do with no check, Mr. Jonas. Don’t you worry, you’re gonna like what you hear about these three jobs—and the guys who gonna be doin’ them ain’t never gonna hear your name. I know just the guys you want. They’ll do real fine.”

“I’m sure they will, Hogg.”

“If you do want to sit in on one or two of these, Mr. Jonas, I won’t even charge you no—”

“It will be fine just the way it is, Hogg. Sixteen-hundred dollars, in cash.” He took a breath through narrowed nostrils, raised his hands against his chest. “I’ll have the money for you as soon as you come back and report the job done.”

“Sure, Mr. Jonas.”

Mr. Jonas frowned at me again. Then he closed the door.

Hogg took his foot off mine. “How you like that bastard, hey?” He turned on the steps. Through his fly, I could see the top third of his cock hanging—which was more than the whole thing on a lot of guys. “I’m just glad he ain’t the only motherfucker I work for, ’cause all his bullshit would just about turn me off the business. ‘Mr. Jonas’ my right nut! I wonder what his real name is. I used to think he was some sort of kinky faggot—that’s why I got in the habit of always leaving my fly down whenever I was talkin’ to ’im. Figured some day he’d wanna suck on it and I’d make myself another twenty-five. But he’s as straight as a bee-flight from the clover to the hive. He likes his women a little on the young side—if he gets it on with a bitch more than seventeen, all his friends are gonna start thinkin’ he’s turnin’ into a gerontophile. He’s into all sorts of gamblin’ and runnin’ whores all over the damned country and down to the West Indies. I wished to hell he didn’t know my real name. I guess it’s just as well I don’t know too much about him. Safer that way, right, cocksucker? I just wonder what these guys I got to get lined up gonna do when they get hold of you?” He laughed as we walked back down the driveway. “You’re a fuckin’ whore, ain’t you, now? I know your kind; you’re gonna be tired of my meat in a couple of days. When these guys take a break from work, it’s gonna be fun to watch them work on you, motherfucker.” He put his hand on the back of my neck. “Hey, gimme that goddamn ten bucks! A fuckin’ tip, huh?” He cuffed the back of my head, hard enough to hurt. “I ought to really bust you one.”