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Show 29 him, across the street, mouthing the words. "But the truth is I don't own a tire of it, my check for the plates is going to bounce, and I can't fill it with gas. It's just a front, as you know. Nobody will buy property from a man who doesn't appear to be doing well himself. What's our situation across the street, shall I come in?" "I'll come out," Fogarty said quickly, glad that he had at least been able to collect some late rent since the last time Jackson had been by. A minute later, bank bag in hand, he was standing beside the Jaguar. Jackson rolled down his window halfway. The two little girls in back were arguing over who got to play with a micro-cassette tape recorder. "I've got to drop them off at the dentist," explained Jackson, leaning back, trying to quiet them. They ignored him. "The other three need to go just as bad, but these two are all my credit is good for. What have you got?" "A hundred and eighty from number seven, in cash," said Fogarty, making the deposit through the half-open window, "which should at least fill your tank and a couple teeth, and a solid promise from the people in nine who are sixty short. For tomorrow. I'll give you a call. Number two is empty and painted. I put out the sign." "What about five?" asked Jackson. "That girl?" Fogarty studied the silk handkerchief which bloomed from the breast pocket of Jackson's white summer suit. "We may have a plumbing problem," he said. |
