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bed. Reuben was still embedded in blankets, his spiky brown hair rising like pins from the pincushion of the pillow. Steve propped to an elbow to regard the sky through the ragged line between the curtains. It showed gray.
    His movement stirred Rube. The boy creased his eyes. “What time is it?”
    “About eleven-twenty. Time to get on the job.” He lifted the phone from the table between the beds.
    Rube reached out for a cigarette. “You here on a job?” It was the first personal question he’d asked.
    Steve said, “A little insurance investigation deal.” He had the right credentials for it, too, in case anyone got too nosy. It was the kind of job that gave a man a legitimate excuse to poke around in varied neighborhoods. He’d memorized Oriole’s coin-box number last night. He gave it to the switchboard, said “Call me,” and added, “Send up some coffee and stuff. Wintress, four-ninety.” He told Rube, “We’ll have breakfast this morning on the boss.” A man needed a bit of coddling now and again. He lit a cigarette himself and pushed the pillows behind his shoulders.
    Reuben said, “I ought to get going and see if I can find those guys. One of them has an aunt lives in an apartment on North Cahuenga. We were going to bunk with her.”
    “You on leave?”
    “Yeah. I’m being reassigned. I just got back from two years in Berlin.”
    Steve’s face didn’t say anything; his face was trained. Berlin. And the phone rang. He slurred into it, “Who’s speaking?”
    The voice said, “Mr. Oriole.” It was the right voice.
    “Wintress. What’s the news?”
    Oriole had had it. He begged, “You must come here at once.”
    “What for?”
    “It is not something to speak over the telephone. Mr. Schmidt is waiting for you. You will come.” It was half question, half command.
    Steve wanted to laugh. Here the name was Schmidt. It wasn’t so much the news putting the tremolo in Oriole, it was a man called Schmidt. He said, “Soon as I get dressed and catch a bite of breakfast,” and waited for the hysteria. He wasn’t disappointed.
    “You must not wait for these things!”
    “I’d look pretty funny running around Hollywood without my pants. See you.” He hung up, yawned a grimace. But he got out of bed. “I’ll go ahead and shower. If breakfast shows up, don’t wait for me.”
    “Sure,” Rube said. He appeared young and disinterested lying there in the bed. And he’d just come back from Berlin. He said for reassignment.
    Steve didn’t waste time in the shower, but Rube was swallowing coffee when he emerged. The smell was good. “Pour me some, kid. I’ll shave while I’m eating.” He plugged in his razor. Rube carried the coffee and a plate of ham and eggs to the bureau. “Should think you’d be spending your leave with your folks.”
    “What for?”
    “Usual thing, isn’t it?”
    “Uh-uh,” Rube said. “My old lady’s got a new boy friend. She didn’t want me around cramping her style.”
    “She can’t be so old,” Steve commented. “Your pop?”
    “He took a walk twelve years ago.”
    “Where’d you live if you lived there?”
    “New York.”
    “I was born there.” Yeah, he’d been a New York kid once himself. A long time ago. He detached the razor and began to put on his pants. They could stand a press. He had a couple of clean shirts and a neat tie with little pink birds on an elongated navy sky, a girl had sent it to him for Christmas. He wore the plain maroon one. The shine on his shoes was still good enough with a rub-up. “Look,” he said, “no use carrying your kit around all day. Bring your pals back with you around five and I’ll buy the dinner.” Big-hearted Steve. But he’d feel better if he made certain that there were pals before the soldier moved out.
    “Well, thanks.” Reuben was in character this early.
    Steve caught up his coat, put on his hat, ducked back in to grab his room key and stow it in his pocket. He kept it there when passing the