Something was wrong, and it wasn't me. Clarence was too good at this. Too good at pretending. I didn't want to burn powder on the guy - I had plans. Then again, I didn't know how much good bumping gums with him would do.

I moved behind the counter because I had to make sure. A bruno doesn't just leave his gun behind even when he drops off the charts, and good pea-shooters are expensive.

There it was.

A Smith & Wesson P.38, fitted out with a walnut handle all the way from California. Yeah, it was his, all right. No one else would've shelled out that much dough for a grip that durable, except maybe me.

"You wanna stop screwin' around?"

I lifted the Walther up and snapped open the chamber, letting the lead fall to the floor.

"I know it's you, you sonuvabitch. No other dropper has a piece that nice."