“I may get a six-week go at Warner’s,” said the Beast. “They’ve been kicking around an Ambrose Bierce story for months, and Larry Green said he might give me a crack at it.”

Ivan looked at him scornfully.

“I’m not making this up,” said the Beast. “Seventy-five dollars a week.”

“I’ll believe you when I see the money,” Ivan said.

“What happened to Cusimano?” Annie asked. Jake was laughing under his breath.

“How the hell do I know?” asked Ivan in an offended tone. “He never came back here.”

“The loony bin,” said the Sheriff grimly. “What else was there?”

“That’s a terrible story,” Annie said distinctly to the room at large.

“Annie darling!” Ivan protested. “It’s just what he deserved. That dumb wop! Why should he have gotten away with his delusions—any more than the rest of us do?” He handed the Beast a ratty pack of cards, and sitting down on the floor with him, said, “Deal, stupid!” The Sheriff appeared to have lapsed into a coma.

“I’d better go,” Annie said to Jake. “I haven’t got an alarm clock and it’ll be luck if I wake up on time.”

The Sheriff suddenly rose and, leaning over his loot, picked out a large plain-faced clock, handing it to her, a look of irritation on his face. “Don’t thank me,” he said hastily. “It’s stolen. Bad luck.”

Annie stood up. “Don’t go, darling girl,” said Ivan, looking intently at his cards. “Your presence improves the atmosphere.”

“Good night, Ivan,” said Jake. “Thanks.”

“Sorry not to have been able to offer you anything,” Ivan said, without looking up from the game. “But we’re broke right now. Next week the Beast will bring us delicious things to eat and drink, won’t you, you lying bastard?”

“Gimme three cards,” said the Beast.

“But what are they?” Annie asked later as she and Jake stood on Hollywood Boulevard waiting for the streetcar which would take her home.

“Writers,” said Jake.

“Writers!” She thought of James St. Vincent. “For what?”

“Ivan says he used to work for MGM. The Beast too. But I think the Sheriff is from the moon.”

“They’re so rough with each other,” she said.

“Let’s walk a ways,” he said. “I don’t see anything coming.”

They set off, passing Grauman’s Chinese Theater, empty shops, a few dimly lit bars. A dull thud accompanied their steps. “Damn!” exclaimed Jake, hopping on one foot. The sole on the other shoe hung from the heel like a cow’s tongue. “I had it fixed just a few weeks ago.” He started to laugh. “Look at that big ugly clock you’re carrying. We are a pair! Here. Let me wind it. Guess what time it is?” They were just passing in front of a jewelry store. Inside, a wall clock was striking midnight. The sound of the chime came delicately through the glass.