“While you’re scaring yourself to death, Jackie’s probably home watching TV,” I said. Or breaking in a new dog, I thought.
“He’s not home,” she said. “He’s out there somewhere.”
I didn’t say anything. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.
“Call him up if you think he’s home,” she said.
I looked at her.
“Go ahead, call him and see. You’re not afraid of him; call him and see if he’s home. If he is, I won’t bother you anymore.”
“All right.”
I didn’t need to look up the number: I had known it for more than a year. I dialed it and waited. No one answered.
“I guess you’re right,” I said. “Looks like Jackie’s hiding out there in the bushes, just waiting for you to show your face.”
She shivered and the goose bumps started.
“I guess you can go hide in the bedroom,” I said. “Tremble in the dark for the rest of your life.”
She cried at that. She cried a good deal. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I didn’t know how to push her off the dime. What was worse, I wasn’t sure anymore what Jackie was ca-pable of, or what I wanted Barbara Crowell to do about him.
“God, I hate having you hate me,” she said at one point.
“If I hated you I wouldn’t be here. I told you before, this isn’t my line of work. I should be well fed and home by now, settling in for a long night’s work.”
I kept looking down in the street. Softly, I said, “Jackie’s probably working somewhere. Trying to figure out a new way to rip somebody off. Maybe he has a date tonight. Maybe he’ll like her better than you. Maybe you’ll get lucky and it’ll be her problem.”
“You bastard!” she cried.
“Yeah, 1 know. It’s the company I keep. Pogo was right. We have met the enemy and it is us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time.”
“It doesn’t matter. You got anything to eat here?”
“I could fix you some bacon and eggs.”
“Jesus, that sounds marvelous.”
We ate. The coffee and the food warmed her up. I tried to get away from that judgmental tone I had taken with her, and after a while we were able to converse in a more or less normal way, the way men and women have always done. I even managed to make her laugh. When that was over, she said, “What do people call you… friends, I mean.”
“Cliff usually does it.”
She turned it over in her mind. “That’s a good man’s name. Can I call you that?”
“Sure, if you want to.”
Suddenly she said. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
I was off duty. I didn’t have anything better to do. The murderer of an unknown bookscout could wait till tomorrow.
“Sure,” I said.
She was surprised. “Do you mean it?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay,” I said.
She looked at the bedroom, then at me. Clearly, she didn’t know how to read me.
“It’ll be all right if you want to…you know…if you don’t hate me too much.”
“I’m not staying here tonight for a shackjob, Barbara. I’ll make you an even trade-off. I’ll get you through the night, then you’ve got to do something for me.”
The look of frightened warmth faded, till only the fright was left.
“I know what you want. The only thing you ever cared about was putting him away. You’ll do anything for that, won’t you?”
