Terese shook her head hopelessly and turned away. Carp continued to eat the lamb stew; using a delicate gourmet style as he manipulated the fork from platter to mouth, then deftly broke bread. His etiquette was perfect as he paused now and then to apply the paper napkin to his lips. There was nothing affected in the performance, and it seemed to Corey that the little man was utterly oblivious of the impression he created. It just comes natural to him, Corey thought. As if he was born and raised in a high-class setup. Come to think of it, them big words he sometimes uses, it gives you the notion he musta went to some fancy school, I mean it’s the way he pronounces them words—

Carp finished the lamb stew, called to Terese and gave her precise instructions for the preparation of the demitasse. At first she told him to come out of the clouds, then decided to go along with it and served him the black coffee in a small toothpick container. He sipped it very slowly, savoring the flavor and nodding appreciatively to Terese. She muttered, through her teeth, “It pleases you, sir?”

“It’s delightful,” Carp said.

“Thank you, sir,” Terese said. “I’m so glad it meets with your approval, sir.”

She went off to serve another customer. Carp took a few more sips of black coffee. And then, without looking at Corey, he murmured, “You understand the issues involved?”

“What issues?” Corey frowned.

Carp turned and looked at him and didn’t say anything.

“Come on, come on,” Corey said. “You got a point to make, make it.”

“I intend to do that,” Carp said. “But first I must establish my position. I wish to cooperate in every way possible.”

There was a long silence. Corey decided there was no use trying to guess what the little man had in mind. The little man was a walking question mark. No one knew Carp’s age or anything at all about his background or what he did with his time when he wasn’t snatching drinks off the bar at the Hangout. The only known facts concerning Carp were that he’d come to the Swamp about four years ago, drifting in with the fog from the river. Another lost soul with nothing in his eyes and nothing in his pockets. Until now Corey had never given a thought to the why and the wherefore of this particular Swampcat; but as he studied Carp’s eyes he felt uneasy. He muttered with a touch of annoyance, “Don’t gimme the buddy-buddy routine. Whatever it is, just state the terms.”

“It calls for an agreement of mutual trust and confidence.”

“Concerning—?”

Carp leaned a little closer to Corey, his voice close to a whisper. “If you’ve heard the talk, you already know.”

Corey stiffened. He said quietly, “I ain’t heard no talk.”