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“Merchandise,” he said. “Um-hum.” Waddell lit a cigar, and took a much longer time to do it than was necessary.

I didn’t wait for him to speak. I went on. “Don’t misunderstand, please. I’m not here to pry into your business or involve you in any way. It’s just that I’m convinced now that Barry Mayhew’s got something to do with those murders. Wait, let me put that another way. In a million years, I couldn’t see Barry torturing and killing anybody. Not with his own hands, at least. And he’s got an alibi for the time of the murders, anyway. But I think he knows stuff none of the rest of us do—about the killings and about Dan and maybe even about what the police are really up to.”

He sat back in his La-Z-Boy, puffed expansively on the cigar.

“Sound like you onto something. Yes sir, I can see Woody didn’t raise no dumb children. But what do all this have to do with me?”

“Can you tell me—would you tell me—if you know Barry Mayhew? Was he getting his merchandise from somebody attached to you? And was Wilton Mobley in the business, too? That’s all I want to know.”

“I’d like to help you out. Out of respect for your aunt and uncle. But all I can do is tell you the way I understand how these things work.”

“That’s good enough.”

“In the business you talking about, there’s a big boss and then there’s a lot of little men below him. The man at the top got a lot on his mind—deals to make, people in high places to see, wheels to grease all over town. The boss control a lot of money, and everybody want some of it. Man at the top can’t be too selfish. He gotta give in order to get.

“But he’ll leave the drudgery to the lower men in the company. Kinda like middlemen. They got they own customer bases. White boy doing business up north, he probably selling that mind-changing shit they cook up in labs. But it’s entirely possible he’s got a source on the South Side for other goods.

“You know what else might happen? A white boy might get to thinking he’s a whole lot slicker than he really is. Might get greedy and try to short somebody. Might even try to get himself out of a jam with the law by selling out one of the middlemen. You know, anything’s possible.”

“So the man at the top wouldn’t really know a drone like Barry Mayhew,” I said. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Mighta heard the name somewhere, but he wouldn’t know him from Adam. And as for this Wilton cat, your friend who was killed, the boss probably never heard of him until he saw on the news that the boy and some white girl got themselves murdered up on Armitage. So if you think he was doing business with the company, you can forget that.”

“I see. All of that makes good sense, Mr. Waddell.”

“Um-hum. I figured you’d understand it.” He picked up my highball glass, which was still full. “Guess you not that thirsty.”

“I’m okay. I’ll just nurse this.”

He began to chuckle. “Tell me something. I bet Woody got no idea you up here. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think so. Way we left it between us, he knew I was entertaining his girl, he probably whip you within ah inch of your life and be talking about trying to kill me.”

“He might. But you don’t seem too scared.”

I watched him roar with laughter, which turned in a minute to thoughtful head-shaking. “Yeah,” he said, “old Woody be outdone if he knew I gave you something he couldn’t.”

“What happened between you and Woody?” I asked then.

“Who you think you kidding, girl? If he wanted you to know, he’d ah told you.”

It was time for me to go. I thanked Waddell and rose from the chair. I saw him looking at me, half in the way those old barbers had done.

“You know, you do feature your mama just a little,” he said.

“What?”

“I said you kind of look like your mama. I’m telling you, that woman was fine.”

The remark staggered me. “You knew my mother?”

“Sure I did. Knew her. Knew your uncle Hero that died. Knew your grandma Rosetta. I know a whole lot about your family.”

That expression on his face was meant to intrigue me. And it did. “That puts you ahead of me,” I said. “Tell