"Have a seat, Mr. Rawlins," Albright said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. He was bare-headed and his coat was nowhere in sight. There was a white leather shoulder holster under his left arm. The muzzle of the pistol almost reached his belt.
The gun interested me. The butt and the barrel were black; the only part of Albright's attire that wasn't white.
As I leaned over to take the glass from his hand he asked, "So you want the job, Easy?"
"Well, that all depends on what kind of job you had in mind."
"I'm looking for somebody, for a friend," he said. He pulled a photograph from his shirt pocket and put it down on the desk. It was a picture of the head and shoulders of a pretty white woman.
"Hundred dollars for a week's work, Mr. Rawlins, and I pay in advance. You find her tomorrow and you keep what's in your pocket."
"I don't know, Mr. Albright. I mean, how do I know what I'm getting mixed up in."
He raised a powerful finger to his lips, then he said, "Easy, walk out the door in the morning and you're mixed up in something. The only thing you can really worry about is if you get mixed up at the top or not."
