CHAPTER XVIIA Cracksman’s Letter—Continued!
The whole three of us go gandering around all summer trying to pick up enough jack to at least get by on, and one day Sparkle-Eyes—that’s what I called her then, and what I’ll call her now—she was a fence, Titus, a lady fence on South Halsted Street—Jesus, I was nertz about her, but she couldn’t see me for dust—well anyway, Sparkle-Eyes sends for me. She’s been over to my kip-joint a number of times, to meet my pals and give ’em the once-over and sort of see that I ain’t gone soft in my old age and started kipping in maybe with a copper or two. This time she sends for me. To come to her joint. A mob that’s got plenty of jack, she tells me, has a gopher job spotted. But they’re all muscle men, and aint got no technikle knowledge. And they’ve been
