to the present. The ad seemed to solve
his problem about being broke. But what about the $17,000 that had
been found in the lining of his jacket? He hadn't mentioned that. Of
course, being a senile psychotic, he could have considered himself
broke even with that amount of money. None coming in, you see.

That didn't add up, either. His was the terror of being old and
jobless. If he'd had money, he would have figured how to make it last,
and that would have come through in one way or another.

There was the ad, there was his hope, and there was this El Greco. A
Greek restaurant, maybe, where he might have been bumming his meals.

But where did the $17,000 fit in?

* * * * *

Lou Pape was too fed up with the whole thing to discuss it with me. He
just gave me the weary eye and said, "You're riding this too hard,
Mark. The guy was talking from fever. How do I know what figures and
what doesn't when I'm dealing with insanity or delirium?"

"But you admit there's plenty about these cases that doesn't figure?"

"Sure. Did you take a look at the condition the world is in lately?
Why should these old people be any exception?"

I couldn't blame him. He'd pulled me in on the cases with plenty of
trouble to himself, just to do me a favor. Now he was fed up. I guess
it wasn't even that--he thought I was ruining myself, at least
financially and maybe worse, by trying to run down the problem. He
said he'd be glad to see me any time and gas about anything or help me
with whatever might be bothering me, if he could, but not these cases
any more. He told me to lay off them, and then he left me on my own.

I don't know what he could have done, actually. I didn't need him to
go through the want ads with me, which I was doing every day, figuring
there might be something in the ravings about an ad. I spent more time
than I liked checking those slanted at old people, only to find they
were supposed to become messengers and such.

One brought me to an old brownstone five-story house in the East 80s.
I got on line with the rest of the applicants--there were men and
women, all decrepit, all looking badly in need of money--and waited my
turn. My face was lined with collodion wrinkles and I wore an antique
shiny suit and rundown shoes. I didn't look more prosperous or any
younger than they did.

I finally came up to the woman who was doing the interviewing. She sat
behind a plain office desk down in the m