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She was on her own when I dropped her downtown. She grinned at me, waved, and I let her go. There was something relaxing about the whole thing now. No more tight feeling in the gut. No more of that big empty hole that was her. She was there and bigger than ever, still with the gun on her belt and ready to follow.

Going through Levitt’s place was only a matter of curiosity. It was a room, nothing more. The landlady said he had been there six months and never caused trouble, paid his rent, and she didn’t want to talk to any more cops. The neighbors didn’t know anything about him at all and didn’t want to find out. The local tavern owner had never served him and couldn’t care less. But up in his room the ashtrays had been full of butts and there were two empty cartons in the garbage and anyone who smokes that much had to pick up cigarettes somewhere.

Basil Levitt did it two blocks away. He got his papers there too. The old lady who ran the place remembered him well and didn’t mind talking about it.

“I know the one,” she told me. “I wondered when the cops would get down here. I even woulda seen them only I wanted to see how fast they’d get here. Sure took you long enough. Where you from, son?”

“Uptown.”

“You know what happened?”

“Not yet.”

“So what do you want with me?”

“Just talk, Mom.”

“So ask.”

“Suppose you tell.” I grinned at her. “Maybe you want the third degree, sweetie, just like in TV . . . okay?”

She waved her hand at me. “That stuff is dead. Who hits old ladies anymore except delinquents?”

“Me. I hit old ladies.”

“You look like the type. So ask me.”

“Okay . . . any friends?”

She shook her head. “No, but he makes phone calls. One of the hot boys . . . never shuts the door.” She nodded toward the pay booth in back.

“You listened?”

“Why not? I’m too old to screw so I get a kick out of love talk.”

“How about that?”

“Yeah, how? ” She smiled crookedly and opened herself a Coke. “He never talked love talk, never. Just money and always mad.”

“More, Mom.”

“He’d talk pretty big loot. Five G’s was the last . . . like he was a betting man. Was he, son?”

“He bet his skin and lost. Now more.”

She made a gesture with her shoulders. “Last time he was real mad. Said something was taking too long and wanted more loot. I don’t think he got it.”

“Any names?”

“Nope. He didn’t call somebody’s house, either.”

I waited and she grinned broadly.

“He only called at a certain time. He had to speak up like wherever the other party was, it was damn noisy. That’s how come I heard him.”

“You’d make a good cop, Mom.”

“I been around long enough, son. You want to know something else?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“He carried a package once. It was all done up in brown paper and it wasn’t light. It was a gun. Rifle all taken down, I’d say. You like that bit?”

“You’re doing great. How’d you know?”

“Easy. It clunked when he set it down. Besides, I could smell the gun oil. My old man was a nut on those things before he kicked off. I smelled that stuff around the house for years.”

Then I knew what bugged me right after Basil Levitt died. I said my thanks and turned to go. She said, “Hey . . .”

“What?”

“Would you really hit an old lady?”

I grinned at her. “Only when they need it,” I said.

I stood in the room that had been Velda’s and scanned the other side of the street. It didn’t take long to sort out the only windows that were set right for an ambush. Ten bucks to a fat old man got me the key with no questions asked and when I opened the door to the first one that was it.

The gun was an expensive sporting rifle with a load in the chamber, blocked in on a tripod screwed to a tabletop and the telescopic sights were centered on the same window I had looked out of a few minutes before. There were two empty cigarette cartons beside the gun, a tomato-juice can full of butts and spent matches, and the remains of a dozen sandwiches scattered around.

Basil’s vigil had been a four-day one. For that long a time he had waited. At any time he could have had Velda. He