CHAPTER EIGHT
It was about six weeks later on that he again entered Mac's place and walked up to the bar, pulled out a stool and sat down. The bartender-John thought it was the same man who had waited on him the time Joan had approached him-came over, took his order, brought him the double whiskey.
"How are you?" the bartender said. "Your name John Deering?" John nodded.
"A young woman has been in here three or four times looking for you. She asked me, when I saw you, to deliver a message."
"What is it?"
"She said you have to come to the Ainsworth place."
"Thanks," John said.
He had been working for the past month at a promotional deal. He had been in charge of a large group of young guys passing out soap samples to the public. Consequently, he had a few dollars in his pocket, enoug
