Beluga comes out of Maxine's at the intersection of Fifth and Lime and stares through heavy traffic at Ed Ludholme's Eatery Cafe opposite him. It is almost always open and workaholic Ed will stay open twenty-four hours every day if he can handle it.

     A black youth nattily dressed  in brown leather jacket and pants is leaning against the Eatery windows, inspecting his fingernails. Beluga sneaks behind a streetcar, makes the sidewalk and grabs the kid's collar.

     "Hiya, Roscoe. How's percentages?"

     Roscoe Johnson feigns horror. "Hey, where did you come from, Harry? Ain't seen you in months."

     Beluga releases the kid's collar and smooths it. "You're slacking, Roscoe - me creeping up on you like this. Still earning commission from Ed?"

     "Yeah, things are pretty good."

     They huddle against the Eatery windows from a wind flurry. "Can't be much commission for you in rough weather."

     Roscoe brings out a bundle of tickets from a pocket, gives Beluga one, slips them back into the pocket. "Bad weather is no problem. It's as it used to be when I first started: each customer I nail with a ticket who then uses it, gets fifteen percent discount. That earns me five percent of every sale. Most folks fall for the discount because they don't like missing out. They prefer a reduction on something they don't want, rather than pay the full price for something they do."

     Beluga readjusts his hat as wind swings at them. "Supposing a guy ignores you and walks on by - what then?"

     Roscoe does a comic double-take. "Uh - huh, nobody gets past me. I say to them. 'Hiya,' then I stick a ticket in their mitt and I say, 'Try Ed's Eatery Cafe. It has the best coffee and the tastiest food in town. Use a discount ticket and take a bite out of the good things in life.'"

     "And if they ignore you and carry on walking?"

     Roscoe grins maliciously. "Then I hope they walk under a streetcar."

     "And you remember their faces, huh?"

     Roscoe swaggers his shoulders. "Sure thing - I have an ace memory. I know it's a cliche, but I never forget a face - especially if it costs me commission."

     Beluga looks at earlier rain glistening among street lighting and property neon signs. "You have a prime spot here, Roscoe. A good view along Lime and you can see round the corner on to Fifth"

     "I sure do have good views. I make out customers at a hundred yards. I'll get 'em for sure - unless they turn down a side street."

     "That's good, but what about a lousy day like this one? Rain had stopped most folks coming. Visibility is poor. How do you allow for that?"

     "Easy. My eyes are fourteen years old, Harry. Both of 'em. Add their ages together and that comes up about five years younger than you are." Roscoe shrugs matter-of-fact. "I can see in the dark even when I'm blindfolded, man."

     "Then you can see Maxine's place across the street?"

     "Sure I can."

     "You were standing here Saturday night?"

     "I'm standing here every Saturday night."

     "Then you see cops arrive at Maxine's after the shooting."

     Roscoe hedges on that one. "Hmm - don't know about that. I don't see everything." 

     Beluga is tiring and becoming impatient. "Look, Roscoe, I want answers. If I get none then I report you to the Juvenile Division."

     "For what?"

     "For being underage at what you are doing. "Now - do I get an answer?" Beluga rummages in his raincoat and brings out a ten-dollar bill.

     Roscoe eyes the money and snaps together a finger and a thumb. "Hold the racehorses, Harry. I do remember Saturday night."
 
     "Tell me what you saw."

     "Well, there are plenty of high rollers with money to burn and guys are taking out their girls to good times. Hell, we're at the corner of Fifth and Lime, one of the hottest spots in the city! You have crowded streetcars, freight trucks, taxi cabs, hotels, gaming dives. The overhead city rail service station is just fifty yards away on Fifth. Then suddenly, I hear three bumps. Ain't sure what they are because I'm dealing with clients. Screaming and shouting comes from Max's and within minutes cops are all over the place like bees around honey." Roscoe waits, his eyes watching the ten-dollar bill.

     "And that's it?"

     "Yeah, that's what I see."

     Beluga rubs the whiskers of his own chin. "Did anybody go into Max's just before the shooting?"

     "Can't help you. Was dealing with customers so I see nothing."

     Beluga rustles the note. "Did anybody come out of Max's after the shooting, but before the cops arrive?" 

     "Nobody."

     Beluga blue eyes narrow. "Nobody?"

     "That's what I said: if they had come out I woulda seen 'em."

     "Let's try again. Maxine has regular customers. Did you see a stranger go in there before the shooting started?"

     Roscoe nods slowly. "Yeah, I see this real tall guy go in - maybe an hour before the hit."

     "Description?"

     "About six feet six. Early twenties."

     "White?"

     "Yeah, he was white - with white hair."

     "A young guy with white hair?" 

     "Pure white, Harry."

     "Wearing?"

     "Dark clothing, except for a vivid green shirt."

     "How did this guy arrive? Did he walk, fly, or come by cab?"

     "He walked. Came round the corner from Fifth and entered Maxine's. That's all I see of him."

     "You never saw him before Saturday?"

     "You got it." Roscoe waves a hand as though cooling it. "Want to know anything else Harry while I'm still hot?"

     "Yeah, Angelo Abrizzi's back in town. Got any news on him?"

     Roscoe becomes visibly nervous and shuffles his feet. "Don't talk to me about him, man. He's strictly big time. And what he deals in I don't want to know about."

     "He owns hotels," Beluga prompts.

     "Hotels?" Roscoe glances along Lime, then peers round the corner onto Fifth and comes back to Beluga. "Angelo is loaded with hotels and other real estate. But I hear he's just a front man for the Mob."

     "When did you see him last?"

     "Oh," Roscoe goes back in time, "maybe five or six years ago. Hard to remember, I was only a kid then." Approaching footsteps hurry on Fifth paving stones. Roscoe grins. "Stay clear, Harry. Here comes commission." A young couple come onto Lime, crouching against the wind. Roscoe slips into sales gear with tickets in hand. "Hi there, kids. Care to eat sweet at Ed's Eatery?"

     "No thanks," says the man.

     "I'm hungry," says the girl, glancing at the signs on the windows. Her hair is tangled and soaked. "I could murder a hamburger."

     "The Eatery is top drawer," says Beluga, pointing to the Eatery windows. "Roscoe here can give you fifteen percent discount tickets. I've just come out. The food is
great. I recommend it."

     The young man wavers, he is slim, good-looking and out to impress his new girlfriend. Roscoe shoves two tickets into the man's hand. "Use these, pal. Fifteen percent comes off your bill at the checkout." The couple go into the Eatery and Roscoe swings round to Beluga. "Say, Harry, what's with the sales pitch? Who's the percentage man here - you or me?"

     "You are." Beluga pushes the ten-dollar bill into Roscoe's hand. "That's a starter, kid. You can earn more of them - if your memory improves."

     Roscoe kisses the note and shoves it into a pocket. "On what should my memory improve?"

     "Get me street talk on Angelo."

     Roscoe nods but says nothing. There is street talk. Sure, there is always street talk. And the word is that Beluga does not have much time left - for loose guns are on the prowl to take him out.

     Gusting wind drags discarded paper into the gutters and clogs the drain covers. Beluga pulls up his raincoat collar as wind slices at them. He is satisfied, for Roscoe has pin-pointed John Doe. The white hair, the green shirt and the height clinches it. Beluga tries more questions.

     "Did cops come over from Maxine's and speak to you?"

     "No. I faded into the Eatery. There's a time to be on the street and there's a time to be some place else. I stayed someplace else until the cops had gone. I watched through the Eatery windows."

     "A smart move," says Beluga. "But maybe your eagle eyes ain't as good as you think they are."

     "How do you mean?"

     "I grab your collar and you never see me coming. And - you never see me go into Max's joint."

     "You got lucky, Harry."

     "Yeah, maybe so. I got to go now, but remember, if you..."

     "If I get street talk about Angelo, I'm to let you know. I hear plenty of talk in Metro City. This city is my life. Always has been. It's the only place that I love."

     "What about the rest of the world?"

     Roscoe snorts. "The rest of the world? It can go kiss my ass."

     Beluga grins and moves off into blustering wind.