That elicited a pained smile.

“Mick Jagger’s bag man? A hazard to my health and well-being, is who. Buffalo used to send guys like you to collect.”

“You’re as close to a capo as this burg has,” I said. “Makes you the man I need to chew the fat with.”

“Woo.”

“I dig those arcade machines on the main floor. Galaga. Galaxian. Joust. Ms. Pac-Man. Space Invaders. Golden oldies. If I had a nickel for every quarter I lost . . .”

He flipped the top on a box of mints and put one into his mouth. He glanced over at Tubby and clacked the lid shut, hard. Tubby folded his paper. He rose with some effort and waddled away.

Boss Man returned his attention to me.

“We got a few more. Those are the popular games. Girls like the claw cranes with the toy prizes. Guys like to pow-pow-pow.” He made finger guns.

“Anybody else in town have machines?”

“Quickstop over on Tenth has an Asteroids clone.”

“The mall?”

“Video game parlor’s gone. Most of the mall is gone. The theater in there has a couple shit games. I’ve been here twenty-three years. Got an industry connection. Be a gravy little sideline, but the home console racket is a pain in the ass.”

“Basically, this is it if you want to come plug a few quarters into a game and chill.” I laced my fingers together behind my head. “Between here and your boy staking out the high school, you’ve got a monopoly on the teenage dime-bag market.”

“My boy? Ah, that punk’s mouth is so big I’m surprised he doesn’t fall in.”

“Isn’t it the truth? My day, you didn’t talk until they chopped the third finger.”

Boss Man gave his head a small, warning jerk. I swiveled and saw the counter kid sneaking up with a steel mallet in his hand.

“Jeff, it’s cool,” Boss Man said.

The kid stopped dead. He pivoted and sailed away like a duck in a shooting gallery when it’s dinged. Boss Man rummaged in a drawer. He retrieved a bottle of cheap whiskey and two unsavory shot glasses.

“Apologies. He’s on parole. Killer Jeff. Can we skip the brutality and take a snort?”

“Can we?” I said, genuinely curious. He was older, a pillar of the community. He’d have the lay of the land, I hoped.

Boss Man poured.

“To old money and young women. But what do I know? I’m a cash conduit and my girlfriend looks like Christopher Lee in the morning.”

“Here’s a counter-toast: Stop carrying whiskey glasses with your fingers on the inside, you fucking heathen!”

We drank.

“I’ll sing you a tune,” he said. “Hell with protocol. I’m not even interested in having the first finger chopped.”

“We’ll see. Sean Pruitt.”

“The security guard who offed himself at the collider site. Don’t know anything about that.”

“Yes, but did you know Sean?”

“He came in here. All the kids do, though.” A cagey light shone in his eyes. “That why you’re in town? Sean P’s suicide?”