18
MONEY
He’s running out of cash.
A few dollars in the billfold, a little more in his shoe, 20 under a floorboard in the closet. He’ll be dead broke by the end of the week.
After breakfast he walks six blocks uptown until he finds a phone booth. It’s on the corner, by the newsstand. The phonebook’s been ripped out, but there’s a dial tone.
He dials the number.
“Yeah?” It’s not a warm voice, or a familiar one.
“Horvath. I’m looking for Ungerleider.”
Silence.
He smacks the receiver to make sure it’s still working.
“Ungerleider’s not here.”
“Who’s this?”
“Lourette.”
Name doesn’t ring a bell.
“You find our guy yet?” the man asks.
“No.”
“So why you callin?”
“Running low on scratch.”
Lourette says nothing, but the way he says it is filled with disappointment and frustration. H
