Eleven
There was a conversation stopper if I ever heard one. I pulled my hand away from the doorknob as though the metal had suddenly become hot and turned to look at him. He was still sitting in the same position, the same humorless smile on his face.
“What’s the gag?” I asked.
“No gag. But it could have been you. You were in Hong Kong. You’re a smart operator. You were on a job where you might have gotten information about the d**g delivery. You were conveniently in the neighborhood and chased the hijackers off after they got most of the drugs.”
“It’s a nice theory,” I said. “It’s a kind of job I suppose I might have pulled, if I had known about it and if I didn’t like to work alone. And what’s your explanation about the cops?”
“Well, it did get rid of our man who was making the del
