about paying back dues.

Behind the reception desk there was a man whose face was the
approximate shape and color of a slightly used waffle. He looked up
from his crossword puzzle as Malone came in, apparently trying to
decide whether or not this new visitor should be greeted with:
"Welcome, Brother!"

Taking pity on his indecision, Malone strode to the desk and said:
"Tell Mike Sand he has a visitor."

The waffle-faced man blinked. "Mr. Sand is busy right now," he said.
"Who wants to talk to him?"

Malone tried to look steely-eyed and tough. "You pick up the
intercom," he said, "and you tell Sand there's a man out here who's in
the cloak-and-suit business."

"The what?"

"Tell him this man is worried about a recent shipment of buttons,"
Malone went on.

"Mister," the waffle-faced man said, "you're nuts."

"So I'm nuts," Malone said. "Make the call."

It was put through. After a few minutes of earnest conversation the
man turned to look at Malone again, dizzied wonder in his eyes. "Mr.
Sand says go right up," he told the FBI Agent in a shocked voice.
"Elevator to the third floor."

Malone went over to the elevator, stepped in and pressed the
third-floor button. As the doors closed, the familiar itch of
precognition began to assail him again. This time he had nothing else
to distract him. He paid very close attention to it as he was carried
slowly and creakily upward.

He looked up. There was an escape-hatch in the top of the car.
Standing on tiptoe, he managed to lift it aside, grasp the edges of
the resulting hole and pull himself up through the hole to the top of
the car. He looked back down, memorizing the elevator, and then pulled
the hatch shut again. There was a small peephole in it, and Malone put
his eye to it and waited.

About twenty seconds later, the car stopped and the doors opened. A
little more time passed, and then a gun, closely followed by a man,
edged around the door frame.

"What the hell," the man said. "The car's empty!"

Another voice said: "Let's cover the stairway."

Two pairs of footsteps receded rapidly down the hall. Malone, gun in
hand, teleported himself back to the previously memorized elevator,
tiptoed to the door and looked out. The two men were standing at the
far end of the hall, posted at either side of the stairwell and
obviously waiting for him to come on up.

Instead, he tiptoed out of the elevator hefting his gun, and came up
silently behind the pair. When h