Your gun has gotten you everything you have. Isn't that true? Hmm? Well, isn't it true?

Sure. Everything. After a while, you can call bartenders and Faro dealers by their first names. Maybe two hundred of 'em. Rented rooms you live in, five hundred. Meals eaten in hash-houses, a thousand. Home, none. Wife, none. Kids... none. Propects, zero. Suppose I left anything out?

Yeah. Places you're tied down to, none. People with a hold on you, none. Men you step aside for, none.

Insults swallowed, none. Enemies, none.

No enemies?

Alive.

Now that's the kind of arithmetic I like!

Yeah. I did too, at your age.