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. Customers came and went; he checked each, on the chance that the redheaded man might have picked this time to eat. He kept his ears cocked.
Presently the counterman looked up. "You trying to wear that bottle out?"
"Just through, thanks." Thorby came up to put the bottle down and said, "Last time I was over this way a red-headed chap was running this place."
The man looked at him. "You a friend of Red?"
"Well, not exactly. I just used to see him here, when I'd stop for a cold drink, or --"
"Let's see your permit."
"What? I don't need --" The man grabbed at Thorby's wrist. But Thorby's profession had made him adept at dodging kicks, cuffs, canes, and such; the man clutched air.
The man came around the counter, fast; Thorby ducked into traffic. He was halfway across the street and had had two narrow escapes before he realized that he was running toward the gate -- and that the counterman was shouting for the guard there.
Thorby turned and started dodging traffic endwise. Fortunately it was dense; this road carried the burden of the yards. He racked up three more brushes with death, saw a side street that dead-ended into the through-way, ducked between two trucks, down the side street as fast as he could go, turned into the first alley, ran down it, hid behind an outbuilding and waited.
He heard no pursuit.
He had been chased many times before, it did not panic him
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