The door swung open and a thickset man stepped out. He paced to the rear door, held his hand near the handle, then looked expectantly in my direction.
I switched off the engine and stepped from the car. I laid my revolver on the roof.
The driver opened the door and a tiny man spilled out. He wore his large hat like a frown and with an expression to match. They called him Jimmy Digits after what he took when he offered a cigar, but really he had a plethora of intimidation tactics.
This wasn’t one of them.