"I stay right here until you finger Gunsalmo Silva. We got the latest on it. He was the trigger man on 'Holy Joe' after he became 'Holy Joe' Corleone's bodyguard. He ain't honest. We want Gunsalmo Silva bad. So these names I got is really good. But if the trade is off, say the word and I use you instead. I need practice."

"No, wait! You got me wrong! I just meant it will take a phone call to set it up away from here. You sit right there. I'll have one of my men bring you a shot of something and..."

"I never drink on the job. It's illegal for cops so it's illegal for me. Square is square. Make your phone call!"

"What hotel are you staying at?"

"None. I just drove in from Istanbul in a rented car."

"That's all I need to know," I said.

I raced into my bedroom and locked the door. I got Faht Bey on the base internal system. "That Blixo deepsleeper," I said. "Get him in an unidentifiable car that will seem to be coming in from Istanbul. Take him to the Saglanmak Rooms. Put him in the room at the exact top of the stairs. Register him as 'John Smith' and tell the clerk he had too much to drink en route. Turn the deepsleep current off in the car so he won't know where he's been. Make sure there are no identifying marks or equipment on him."

Faht Bey said that he would. But he added, "No commotions, Officer Gris. A riot is enough trouble for one day."

I picked up a night infrared scope. I went outside. I persuaded Jimmy "The Gutter" to get up off the grass and sit at a lawn table. I got him served some soft drink. He gave some to a cat that was wandering around and then watched the cat.

He was not very good company. "How's Babe?" I said at length.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, an old flame, after all."

"She says she never heard of you."

"I don't always use the same name," I said.

"Oh."

"How's Geovani?" I said.

"Why do you want to know?"

Well, it was not what is called a chummy get-together.

I thought I'd given Faht Bey enough time to get organized.

We went out to Jimmy "The Gutter's" rented car. I told him where to go.

In a few minutes, I had him park on a back street. We went to the house across the road from the Saglanmak Rooms. It was a flat-topped house. There was an old Turk that we know. I said, "I'm a roof inspector." I handed him a five-hundred-lira note. "We don't want to alarm people by making our inspections public."

He let us through a trap door. The roof had a parapet around it. On hands and knees, we went over to the edge of the flat roof, hidden from the Saglanmak by the parapet.

We were looking straight into the indicated room of the hotel. I showed Jimmy "The Gutter" the stairway which led up to the outside porch. But he knew it already, to his sorrow.

Even though it was autumn now, it was a bit hot on the roof. But Jimmy "The Gutter" didn't seem to mind. He was apparently well conditioned into lying in wait. A properly trained hit man.

The sun went down. We did not make any conversation. Some stars came out. This occasioned no comment.

A car drove up in front of the hotel. Three men got out. The one in the middle seemed to be sagging. They went into the hotel.

Shortly, the light went on in the room.

"Oh, boy!" said Jimmy "The Gutter."

Gunsalmo Silva, very recognizable through the window, was half carried through the door. He seemed to be out cold.

The two men got his clothes off. They put him in the bed and threw the covers over him. We could see the end of the bed.

Jimmy "The Gutter" was checking his stiletto and a gun. He was so intent on his job, I had to remind him. "The list," I said.

He reached into his jacket. I had the Cobra on him in my pocket in case he drew something else.

It was the list. "Two hunnert names," he said. "All good ones, ready and waiting to come. The last on the list is my brother in Hoboken. You send the commissions to him. He's the straight member of the family, a garbage man. If you forget to pay, I'll be back for you next trip."

"Honesty is the best policy," I said. "It's a pleasure to do business with you."

He grunted.

We went down through the trap.

Jimmy "The Gutter" headed for the outside stairway to that room.

Although I have been known to be a devotee of spectator sports, I thought it would be wiser to have an alibi.

I went down the street and walked into a bar. I ordered a Coke. I was prepared to stay there half an hour talking with the barman about the weather. I didn't.

With a battering roar a shot racketed up the street!

Then two more shots!

My Gods, what was Jimmy using? A cannon?

I stayed right where I was. A police car sounded. There were running feet in the street. Voices and shouts.

"Awfully loud out tonight," I said to the barman.

"Can't understand it," said the barman. "You were standing right here, Sultan Bey."

"I sure was," I said. I shortchanged him so he would remember it.

After our argument died down, I went out on the street. A lot of people were standing outside the Saglanmak. A cop was at the door.

I walked the other way and found a taxi.

The driver let me out at the hospital.

I went in.

I was sort of amazed to see a white-uniformed nurse at the reception counter. It was a very competent-looking girl, good-looking, a Turkish brunette. But she seemed awfully young. "Whom did you wish to see?" she said professionally.

I almost said "Prahd." Then I recalled he had been given papers of a dead male baby and "had been overseas being educated." What name was it? I couldn't remember. "The new head man," I said.

"Ah, Doktor Muhammed Ataturk! You have an appointment? Perhaps I should direct you to a resident intern instead?"

"He's a friend," I said hastily.

"That will be three hundred lira," she said. "We can adjust the amount after your examination. It is a deposit."

"I thought this was a free clinic!"

"Only to those who cannot pay. You obviously can pay. You came in a taxi. No lira, no appointment."

"Get him out here!" I said in a deadly voice.

It must have been kind of loud. Prahd stuck his head out of his office. He said, "That's all right, Nurse Bildirjin. It is a business appointment."

She reluctantly let me pass. In his office, I said, "What the Hells is that?"

"Her name means 'quail.' I thought it kind of pretty," said Prahd.

"More payroll?" I demanded.

"Why, yes. She's the daughter of the town's leading practitioner. His son is coming in from Istanbul in the morning to finish his internship here. But only five more nurses are coming down from the Istanbul training school."

"Who's this 'resident intern'?" I demanded.

"Oh, that's me when they don't have money." I noticed he had a big tray on a side table, a finished dinner that must have been enormous. "Are you running up bills at the restaurants, too?" I demanded.

"Oh, no," he said. "You told me to be economical. So I only hired two cooks, three dishwashers, a laundress and a chef. They don't want much money. Just plenty of food to carry home."

"Look," I said, "that girl out there will steal your patients for her father. That son when he comes..."

"Oh, I mean to train him in cellology!" His eyes suddenly glowed. "Officer Gris, I think I can clean up all the TB and trachoma in this district! And then go on to all of Turkey! And then the whole Middle..."

"Doctor Bittlestiffender!" I said sharply. "They obviously omitted from your training a course in finance. Doctor Gyrant Slahb often said, 'Where the Hells would cellology be without money'! So there!"

"She did try to collect a fee off you," he said weakly. I sat down. "Prahd, I think you need basic orientation in the facts of life. It isn't money from me you're after. It's money for me, young Doctor Prahd." I saw he looked shocked.