CHAPTER TWENTY From the main gate of the Mint the street ran downhill two or three blocks. Then it humped up over a lower hill before it swept all the way down the steep pitch to the waterfront flats, across them and out onto the New World pier. Since the New World was en route to or from Sacramento at the moment, the pier was empty. That little hump-actually it wasn't so little-was what bothered Gabe. Everything was downhill, except that stinking hump. He stood near the wall of the Mint, gazing down at the hump and past it to the rooftops beyond. Gaslights illuminated the streets and the fog was a thin mist tonight. The chill was in his bones. Roscoe-whom Gabe had positioned strategically downwind-said, "It's after three. Where the hell is she?" "She'll be here." "You can't trust 'em," Roscoe said. Francis, who stood watching between Captain Flagway and Ittzy, said, "Listen." "To what? The damn fog?" "Shut up, Roscoe dear." Gabe heard the slow clop of hoofs.
