“OK,” I said. “That’s better. When do I speak to her?”
“I’ve seen this guy before,” he told them.
He sat there in his chinos and his polo shirt. He had picked up his white sweater and wrapped it around his shoulders again. Without his glasses he looked older, more vacant. People who wear glasses, without them they always look defocused, vulnerable. Out in the open. A layer removed. He looked like a tired old man. One leg was thrust forward. I could see the patterned sole of his shoe.
“You ever heard of Blind Blake?” I asked him.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to get into a whole lot of reminiscing. Neither should she, not if she was stepping out of line and was in danger of being overheard. She should just tell me what she had to tell me and get off the line.
“How many people?” I asked him. I was trying to build up a picture.