In the Best Families

Four days before that, August twenty-second, a Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk at 1019, to keep an appointment with a man who had phoned. I had told him I was soon leaving for a month's vacation, and he hadn't felt like giving a name, but I thought I recognised the voice and had agreed to see him. When he walked in on the dot, at 3.15, I was glad to know that my memory for voices was holding up. It was my old cell mate, Max Christy.

I got up and we shook. He put his panama on the desk and glanced around. His black mop was cut a little shorter than it had been in April, but the jungle of his eyebrows hadn't been touched, and his shoulders looked just as broad in grey tropical worsted. I invited him to sit and he did.

“I must apologise, I said, “for never settling for that breakfast. It was a life-saver.

He waved it away. “The pleasure was mine. How's it going?

“Oh-no complaints. You?

“I've been extremely busy. He got out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face and neck. “I certainly sweat. Sometimes I think it's stupid, this constant back and forth, push and shove.

“Yes, I suppose so. You never phoned me. Did you?

“The number, I said, “is Churchill five, three two three two.

“But you never called it.

“No, sir, I admitted, “I didn't. One thing and another kept coming up, and then

I didn't care much for your line about if I got taken in and my being given a trial. I am by no means a punk, and the ink on my licence dried long ago. Here, look behind my ears.

He threw back his head and haw-hawed, then shut it off and told me soberly, “You got me wrong, Goodwin. I only meant we'd have to go slow on account of your record. He used the handkerchief on his forehead. “I certainly do sweat. Since then your name has been discussed a little, and I assure you, you are not regarded as a punk. We have noticed that you seem to have plenty of jobs since you opened this office, but so trivial for a man like you. Why did you turn down the offer from the Feds?

“Oh, they keep such long hours.

He nodded. “And you don't like harness, do you?

“I've never tried it and don't intend to.

“What have you got on hand now? Anything important?

“Nothing whatever, important or otherwise. I told you on the phone, I'm taking a vacation. Sailing Saturday.

He regarded me disapprovingly. “You don't need a vacation. If anybody needs a vacation it's me, but I don't get one. I've got a job for you.

I shook my head. “Not right now. When I get back maybe.