“My condolences,” I said. “But you didn’t send Barney Baker to flag me down with a grand because it’s Old Home Week.”

“No. But before I make my pitch, I want you to get the low-down on this Good-time Charley my boys have been driving around town all day.”

Then began a parade of the mostly questionable-looking cabbies I’d seen lined up in the outer area. Each came in and stood with cap in hand like this was the office at school and Costello was the principal.

* * *

It’s about eight o’clock, the first cabbie said, a flat-nosed character who referred to his logbook, when I get called to the Sportsman’s Bar at 3500 South Jefferson. This guy who needs a shave is with a blowsy blonde who must have drunk her breakfast. Guy says he’s Steve Strand and this is his wife Bonnie, and somebody broke into their car and stole their luggage. He wants me to take them to the nearest pawnshop so he can buy replacements. I don’t know of any pawnshops around there, but we get in the cab and drive around.

Nothing.

I even pull over and ask a couple of times.

Nothing.

Finally I head downtown and find a pawnshop but it’s closed. Slay’s Bar at 114 Broadway is open. We go in and Steve has a shot of Walker’s Deluxe whiskey and so does Bonnie, twice. They buy me a drink…just a Coke, Mr. Costello, just a Coke…while we wait for the Army Store at 17 North Broadway to open at nine.

Nine comes, and Steve goes off to buy luggage and comes back with a green footlocker and a black suitcase. Both metal. Both empty. I load ’em in the trunk. They have me take ’em back to the Sportsman’s Bar and unload the footlocker and suitcase onto the sidewalk. They pay me. I go.

I find their behavior peculiar and take a spin around the block. On the return trip, I see ’em loading the luggage in the blue Ford’s trunk. I look to see if any windows in the car look busted, because of what they said about it being broken into. All the windows was rolled up and looked fine.

* * *

I get called to the Hi-Nabor Buffet at 2801 Wyoming Street, said the second cabbie, mustached, fifty, which sounds like a restaurant but is mostly a bar. It’s just after ten A.M. and they‘re drinking bourbon.

They have some metal luggage, a footlocker and a suitcase. I go out and put them in the trunk but they are so heavy I can hardly lift them. Steve asks me to take him to buy a used car. But the woman, who is drunker than he is, says, ‘No, take us to the bus station downtown.’

I take them to the Greyhound Bus Depot at Broadway and Delmar. Help them unload the luggage. The fare is a buck twenty-five. He pays with two one-dollar bills and lets me keep half a dollar. This is around 10:35 A.M.