"Yes. Look ... here, I have two cents, you take them." Pete looked suspiciously at the two coins. "We don't sell nothing that costs two cents." "You take the two cents, but give me a dime. _Please._" "Sharp businessman," noted George. "This is rich," said Pete. "Do you really expect to _buy_ a dime for two cents?" Shorty said, "He just noticed how well you're doing. He figures you can afford the loss." "Boy, it burns me up," said Pete. "These professional bums make more in a week than I see in a month." "You keep talking that way, and this clown will want to buy your business for the two cents," Shorty said. "Ain't worth it," George said and banged his glass down. "Fill it," he directed Pete. As Pete turned, the man made a lunge for George's change on the bar. "Watch him," warned Shorty. George needed no warning. He had seen the man eying his money, and he had hoped for just such a move. With a right fist to the side of the man's head, George took revenge for a bad day's work. The man lay very still on the floor. * * * * * "What a paste," said Shorty, admiringly. "You could have killed him like that." "He sure ain't doing much moving," said Pete, coming around the end of the bar. "I'd better take a look." "Man, I didn't hit him that hard." "Well, _man_, he sure asked for it," said Shorty. "And me and Pete will be right here to tell the cops that the guy was a crook and tried to rob your money. Right, Pete?" "George, this guy's got no pulse," Pete said. "Watcha gonna do, George?" Shorty said. "Just shut up and wait a minute," Pete said. "I think he's trying to say something." The man's eyes pleaded with each of the three. His lips quietly formed their message: "Dime." "Wow, talk about persistence," said Shorty. George looked at his change on the bar. He picked up a dime. "Hey," said Shorty, "what are you doing?" "Shut up," said Pete. "George's money is George's money. What he does with it is his business." "Look," George said, "I didn't mean to hit you so hard. I mean, I hit you so hard my whole hand hurts. So here, you can have the dime, I won't miss it." He pressed the dime into the man's hand. * * * * * "Holy cow," said Shorty. It was the first sound any of the three had made after the man had left, fifteen minutes before. George stared into the mirror behind the bar, seeking some mighty truth in his own reflection. "He says ... he says _Unbutton my shirt_, and then...." George fondled some coins in his hand. "Then he takes that crazy dime, a plain old, regular, crazy dime...." Pete poured himself a Scotch. "What kind of guy is it, anyway," he said, "who walks around with a slot in the middle of his chest that he puts dimes into?" "Yeah," said George, "and who _ticks_, yet?" End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rundown, by Robert Lory