"We're waiting for a friend. Is that against the law in this burg?"

"Oh, gee whiz, no. I just thought I might be able to help you out. Your friend wouldn't be Vinnie Baratto, would he?" He asked the question almost gleefully.

Both of the men took notice. "Vinnie, who?" asked the mus­tache.

"Vinnie Baratto. He lives right up there, over the Laundromat. Is he a friend of yours?"

"Yeah. You know where Vinnie is?"

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"Tell you what. If you fellows show me some identification, then I'll know who to tell Vinnie was looking for him...if I happen to see him."

They both thought about it before extracting driver's licenses from their wallets. Mustache was Alfred Nota, from Boston, and tic-face was Homer Flanders, from Philadelphia. Dean meticu­lously copied the names and addresses in a notebook.

"You don't meet many folks named 'Homer,' do you, Homer? Most old ladies wouldn't name their kids 'Homer.' They'd figure the poor kid would get all kinds of razing in school and all." Homer did not look happy. "Have you fellows known ol' Vinnie very long?"

"We go way back. Now, can we cut out all this shit and...."

"I go way back with ol' Vinnie, too. Ol' Vinnie and I went to school together."

Homer laughed. "I didn't know Vinnie ever went to school."

Dean reached in the car, pointing, scarcely an inch from a bulge beneath Alfred's shoulder, causing him to pull away. "I guess you carry that gun 'cause it's such a piss-poor neighborhood where our old buddy Vinnie lives. Huh?"

Alfred turned, a smile on his face but a sneer in his voice. "I don't have no gun, Mr. Policeman," and he added, "you don't have no 'probable cause' now, do you?"

Dean retained his smile. "Well, I guess you got me there. But I'm just interested in our old pal Vinnie. It looks like ol' Vinnie is missing, doesn't it? I can't understand it. Seems there's an epi­demic of 'missing' going around. All my buddies seem to be miss­ing. You haven't seen anything of Billie and Willie Wassermann, have you? Word is they're missing too."

The name startled them. "We don't know no guys named Wassermann," answered Alfred.

"Naw, we don't know no twins at all," piped up Flanders, who Dean pegged as the really smart one of the pair.

Alfred interrupted him. "We better get going. I got to catch a plane back up to Boston-tickets for the Symphony and stuff like that."

"I'll certainly let ol' Vinnie know you're looking for him. I'm sure he'll be tickled pink." Dean stepped back from the car.




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