"I don't believe I know you, sir," the man said, looking at me. He was awfully well mannered and well-spoken for a guy that had just put a bullet in some poor schmuck's chest.
"I'm Jake Randolph," I said.
He looked puzzled, "I'm afraid that doesn't help, sir."
Vic spoke up, "He's a private dick, Lanyard."
Paul Lanyard. The hit man Vic hired to kill his second-in-command-turned-stoolie Frank DiNuccio. The man he owed the 250 grand that he didn't have, and who was going to kill him at 5 PM if he couldn't produce it.