Dzinski’d been tailed since the liquor store. Three blocks now. The fifth of rye pulled heavy at his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he was tired of carrying it, or tired of not having it open. He hung a right at the corner and ducked into Paul’s.
The pool game in the back room ended as he came in, and the defeated young punk pushed past him and outside, trying to escape the jeers of the regulars. Dzinski hurried through, slowing to tip his hat to Callahan as the priest counted his nightly winnings, and left through the back door.