An hour later, I picked up Guido Isaac in the Club Enchantment on Eighth Avenue. It was neither a club nor very enchanting but it was good for a beer and I had a bottle of Blatz while Guido kept swatting me on the back with a bony hand and saying, “It’s you. It’s really you. Man, you can wallop like a mule. I ain’t forgot it, Jason.”
“Sure,” I said. I swallowed the last of the beer and looked at my watch. Almost nine-thirty. “What did you find out about Wompler?”
He shrugged expressively and scratched at kinky hair. “Not much, I guess. Five years ago he got in trouble for peddling pornographic comic books, but got off with a stiff fine and a suspended sentence. I brung one of the books if you want to see.”
I shook my head. “I’ve got to get going, Guido.”
“The same business?”
“Wompler.
