THE CORRUPTER

by James Colton

At five minutes to ten, Barker Thomas decided to lock up. He was tired. But when he was halfway across the little lunchroom, that was a stiff garden of daffodil-yellow tables and delphinium-blue chairs, he halted. A bony man in chinos and a leather jacket, pale-faced, needing a shave, came across the sidewalk, his thinning hair stirring in the damp night air. Barker walked back behind the counter and poured from the nearly empty glass pot into a crockery mug. He heard the door open and close.

"Coffee? It's about all we've got left."

"Yeah." A stool squeaked.

Barker turned, smiling, and set the mug on the counter. Then he stopped smiling. The man held a gun. Barker looked at his eyes that were faded blue in a sallow face.

"What's this?"

"What does it look like, Barker?"

"Look, I wouldn't try a hold-up here. We've had one. The cops are watching this place."

The thin mouth twisted in a sour smile. "Not a hold-up, Barker. Murder. I'm going to kill you."

Barker's knees gave way. He gripped the counter.

"Kill me? What for? Look, if this is a gag-

But of course it wasn't. Mechanically, he turned his head to stare at the snap-shots Scotch-taped to the side of the cash-register. And he thought hollowly: I should never have stayed here, not after the last time. The last time, they had made him give them the money. Then, instead of running, they had dragged him into the kitchen, and one of them had lashed him across the face with a chain, and when he had fallen down they had kicked him, kicked him. He had damn near died. Kids, juveniles. The police had caught them. But he had damn near died anyway. In the hospital. A month in the hospital. After that, he should have sold out. He should never have come back here. Now

"You don't know who I am, do you, Barker? Look at me, goddammit! What the hell do you see over there?"

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