aid that Malone was one of his top operatives, but
now that trouble was really piling up there wasn't a peep out of him.

The enemy, whoever they were, were doing a great job, Malone thought
bitterly. Every time Burris decided he might need Malone, apparently,
they pushed a little mental burst at him and turned him around again.
He could just picture Burris looking blankly at an FBI roster and
saying: "Malone? Who's he?"

It wasn't a nice picture. Malone took a deep swallow of his
bourbon-and-water and tried forgetting about it. The bartender, called
by another customer, put the glass and towel down and went to the
other end of the bar. Malone finished his drink very slowly, feeling
more lonely than he could ever remember being before.

* * * * *

At last, though, four-thirty rolled around and he got up from the
plush bar stool and headed for the Universal Joint, the hotel's big
show-room. It was one of the few places in the hotel that was easily
reachable from the front bar on foot, and Malone walked, taking an
unexpected pleasure in this novel form of locomotion. In a few minutes
he was at the great curtained front doors.

He pushed them open. Later, of course, when the Universal Joint was
open to the public, a man in a uniform slightly more impressive than
that of a South American generalissimo would be standing before the
doors to save patrons the unpleasant necessity of opening them for
themselves. But now, in the afternoon, the Universal Joint was closed.
There was no one inside but Primo Palveri, the manager and majority
stockholder of the Great Universal, and the new strip act he was
watching. Malone didn't particularly like the idea of sharing his
conversation with a burlesque stripper, but there was little he could
do about it; he'd waited several days for the appointment already.

As the doors opened he could hear a nasal voice, almost without
over-tones, saying: "Now turn around, baby. Turn around." A pause, and
then another voice, this one female:

"Is this all right, Mr. Palveri? You want me to show you something
else?"

Malone shut the door quietly behind him. The female voice was coming
from the throat of a semi-naked girl about five feet eight, with
bright red hair and a wide, wide smile. She was staring at a chunky
little black-haired man sunk in a chair, whose back was to Malone.

"What else do you do, Sweetheart?" the chunky man said. "Let me see
whatever you