Oliver had bought clothes according to Lee's instructions--including two men's suits, Oliver's size. One she let out for Charles; the other she took in for herself. She instructed Charles minutely in how he was to behave, on the outside. First he roared with incredulous laughter; Lee, wise, in psychology assured him that she was perfectly serious. Oliver, puzzled by his naivete, assured him that such things were not uncommon--not at least in Mob Territory. Charles then roared with indignation and Lee roared him down. His last broken protest was: "But what'll I do if somebody takes me up on it?" She shrugged, washing her hands of the matter, and went on trimming and dying her hair. It was morning when she kissed Oliver good-bye, said to Charles: "See you at the station. Don't say good-bye," and walked from the apartment, a dark-haired boy with a slight limp. Charles watched her down the street. A cop turned to look after her and then went on his way. Half an hour later Charles shook hands with Oliver and went out. Oliver didn't go to work that day. He sat all day at the table, drawing endless slow sketches of Lee Falcaro's head. Time the Great Kidder, he thought. He opens the door that shows you in the next room tables of goodies, colorful and tasty, men and women around the tables pleasantly surprised to see you, beckoning to you to join the feast. We have roast beef if you're serious, we have caviar if you're experimental, we have baked alaska if you're frivolous--join the feast; try a little bit of everything. So you start toward the door. Time, the Great Kidder, pulls the rug from under your feet and slams the door while the guests at the feast laugh their heads off at your painful but superficial injuries. Oliver slowly drew Lee's head for the fifteenth time and wished he dared to turn on the audio for the news. Perhaps he thought, the next voice you hear will be the cops at the door. XXI Charles walked down the street and ran immediately into a challenge from a police sergeant. "Where you from, mister?" the cop demanded, balanced and ready to draw. Charles gulped and let Lee Falcaro's drilling take over. "Oh, around, sergeant. I'm from around here." "What're you so nervous about?" "Why, sergeant, you're such an exciting type, really. Did anybody ever tell you you look well in uniform?" The cop glared at him and said: "If I wasn't in uniform, I'd hang one on you sister. And if the force wasn't all out hunting the lunatics, that killed Mr. Regan I'd pull you in for spitting on the sidewalk. Get to hell off my beat and stay off. I'm not forgetting your face." Charles scurried on. It had worked.