“We’ll see what we can find out,” Belson said.
“Lemme know,” I said.
“Might,” Belson said. “You turned your piece over to the crime scene people?”
“Yep.”
“You got another one?” Belson said. “People trying to kill you and all.”
I reached into my desk drawer and took out a .38 Chief’s Special.
“Loaded,” Belson said. “No trigger lock.”
“Got a nice holster,” I said.
“Okay,” Belson said. “In that case, I won’t run you in.”
“Stern,” I said. “But compassionate.”
“And if they succeed in killing you next try,” Belson said, “I’ll try to catch them.”
“That’s encouraging,” I said.
25
I was halving oranges and squeezing the juice into a glass in my kitchen when Susan appeared, fresh from the shower and the makeup mirror. I took a deep breath. Whenever I saw her I took a deep breath. It was more dignified than yelling “Jehoshaphat!”
“Isn’t that a lot of trouble?” Susan said. “I like the stuff in a carton fine.”
“That’s pasteurized,” I said. “I want the authentic experience. Unprocessed. Nothing between me and the orange, you know?
I gave her the glass and squeezed some for myself.
“You are, as they say in psychotherapeutic circles, a weird dude,” Susan said.
“And yet you love me,” I said.
“I know.”
“It’s all about the sex,” I said. “Isn’t it.”
“Not all,” Susan said. “You cook a nice breakfast, too.”
She had on tight black jeans tucked into high cavalier boots, the kind where the top folds over. Her open- collared shirt was white, and over it she wore a small black sweater vest. It set off her black hair and big, dark eyes. She probably knew that.
“Good sex and a nice breakfast,” I said. “An unbeatable combination.”
Susan smiled.
“I don’t recall anyone using the word ‘good,’ ” she said.
“Seems to me,” I said, “you were singing different lyrics an hour ago.”
She actually flushed a little bit.
“Don’t be coarse,” she said.
“Not even in self-defense?” I said.
She grinned at me.
“Well, maybe,” she said. “We were quite lively. Weren’t we.”
“With good reason,” I said.
I finished my orange juice and poured us both some coffee. Susan wasn’t anywhere near finishing her orange juice. But she might never finish it. Over the years I’d learned to proceed and let her sort it out.
Pearl was asleep on her back on the couch, with her head lolling off. She was waiting, I knew, for actual food to be prepared and served, at which time she’d get off the couch and come over and haunt us.
“I have a question,” Susan said. “And a comment.”
“Is this one of those questions where you also know the answer, but you’d like to hear what I have to say?”
“Yes,” Susan said. “But first the comment.”
“Okay.”
“It was very clever of you to turn the situation around the way you did.”
“You mean opening the door and sitting tight?”
“Yes. Up to that point, they had the power. They were waiting to ambush you. When you pushed the door open, you took the power from them. Now you were waiting to ambush them.”
“Astounding, isn’t it,” I said.
“Do you think of these things in the moment?” Susan said. “Or do you keep a little list?”
