"This Negro player may be a Communist," the director continued, sitting in the car.  "And I suspect your brother too. Both of them. You know how I feel about that."

"I don't know about those sorts of things," Johnny answered.  "I don't pay much attention to politics."

Mr. Hoover remarked that Johnny looked tense and nervous, not relaxed as he had when they met two weeks ago and discussed the Needle's removal.  They each had their own reasons for wanting the Needle dead, and they each had their own thoughts about Earl's murder and why it happened, but they shared a common interest.  "Relax, Johnny," Hoover said soothingly, as soothing as he was capable of.  "It's done. It's all over."

"You know, it wasn't me," Johnny said, "it happened before I could pull the trigger."

Hoover said they he knew Johnny would be hesitant.  That is why they had a back up.  Joey Sarrow and Eddie Lucas made the call that night to change the plan, and then suddenly Johnny showed up, over an hour late.  But by then it was in motion. Johnny asked who the shooter was.  Hoover declined the invitation to say. "Let's just say someone outside the fold.  Nobody you would know."  He thanked Johnny for helping the agency.  Johnny managed to fool enough people to believe he was coming back into the Needle's family, or that he wanted to somehow take over the syndicate.  "Imagine, a colored man doing that," Johnny said, laughing, but without a reaction from the director who sat stern faced.  Johnny's brother's murder had pushed him into Hoover's corner, but he never really trusted the director, and was always uncertain of his sympathies towards him, or that Negro player he was referring to.

"We don't need anything else from you, Johnny.  You are free to be on your way. We got a place in Key West for you and your girl. Go down there for a few weeks.  And for your own protection we are changing your name.  I never liked it anyway -Johnny Washington, what a stupid f***ing name."

Hoover handed Johnny a new passport, driver's license and other papers, including an envelope with cash. Printed on the passport was his new name.  Johnny Christmas.  "That's it?" he asked Hoover.  "Johnny Washington to Johnny Christmas?  Are you kidding me?"  Hoover gave him a blank stare.  Then the car stopped, pulled to the curb and someone opened the door.  Johnny saw another car pull alongside them.  The window lowered a few inches and sitting there in the back seat was Pauline, who motioned for Johnny with a tilt of her head.

"Enjoy Key West," Hoover said, patting Johnny on the leg. Johnny Christmas knew not to ask any more questions.  He stepped out of the car and then looked back one last time and tipped his hat to the director that was a combined gesture of thanks and good riddance.  He joined Pauline, pulling in his long overcoat as the door closed, and the car pulled away from the curb.

*  *  *

Back at El Morocco that morning Moe Schneider sat at a table in his empty club reading a newspaper. Peaches emerged from his private office half covered in a short silk robe, her long legs peeking out from beneath, and her long wavy red hair a bit messy.  She yawned, came over and gave Moe a kiss, put her arms around him and asked what he was reading. The paper reported that Hymie Orloff had killed the Needle and that Orloff had been shot on the spot by Meadowlark's men.  Schneider knew Orloff, a two bit wanna be gangster who was nowhere near the club the night of the shooting but who had been killed in an automobile accident that same night.  He was a convenient cover.  Orloff's mangled body was hurriedly cremated and the case was declared closed.

The morning after the shooting, two of Hoover's men had come to see Moe at the club.  They asked for the camera used the previous night to take the picture of the Needle and Johnny just at that moment when the Needle was shot.  "Some amazing coincidence," one of the agents said to the other, "what kind of moron fires a gun when someone is about to take a picture of the guy you are shooting. What an idiot he must be."  Moe went into his office and brought out the camera and the photo he had developed the night of the shooting and gave them to the two men. "The negatives too," one agent ordered.

The two agents removed themselves to a corner of the room and sat down with the photograph. "Is he still in New York?" one agent asked the other.  No, he was on a plane at that very moment, the other answered.  They looked at the photo, and there, clear and blurry at the same time, and frozen in time, was a dark haired man with hair slicked back, half hidden behind the Needle, but his glistening gun clear and positioned inches from the back of the Needle's fat head, the photo illuminated by both the flash of the camera and the explosion from the gun.

"Do you know him?" one agent asked Moe, who answered that yes, he was a guy just out of the army and was coming to New York to speak to Moe about the club business before breaking out on his own back home.  "Looks like he had more on his mind than just the club business," one agent said to the other, looking at the photo.

The first agent put the negative and the photograph into a metal garbage can, stuffed it with some paper, took his lighted cigarette out of his mouth and threw it in the can. "What's his name?" the second, younger agent asked as they watched the flames grow and the photo burn and the negative twist and melt.

"Ruby. Something Ruby," was the answer. "So much for him; gone now I suppose. No one will ever know who he is.  Remember his name though," the first agent said to the other.  "Never know if we may need him again sometime for something."

The agents, finished with their business, and left while Moe got ready for another busy night at El Morocco in Harlem.