“Who else? What kind of a bird is he?”
So that took care of that. She knew less about Edgars than Parker did. On the off-chance, he said, “I thought you knew him from always.”
She laughed. “That’s his story. On my side, ‘always’ looks like three weeks.”
“Since he came to town.”
“I guess.”
“You didn’t sound like North Dakota.”
“Compliments yet.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
The light changed again, and he drove on. Two blocks farther on she told him to make a left. Her voice was cold as ice. He got stopped by another traffic light, went two more blocks and she said, “Just ahead on the right.”
There was a fireplug handy. He parked next to it. She said, “You want a ticket?”
“What do you care?”
“Not a thing, ugly. Wait here, I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“I’ll come along.”
“Why?”
“So you’ll be quicker.”
“Mister Edgars has such sweet friends.”
It was a brick apartment building, the entrance flanked by coachlamps bearing twenty-five-watt bulbs. There was a small green elevator, which took them slowly to the third floor.
As they walked down the hall, she rummaged in her purse for a key and said, “If my roomie’s in, try not to be any uglier than you have to.”
She unlocked a door and pushed it open. The apartment was dark. She felt along the wall and found the light switch. It was a ceiling light that came on, showing a large room full of clutter. Newspapers, magazines, paperback books, scattered all over the place. A studio couch was covered by wrinkled sheets and blankets; a pillow was on the floor next to it. There were wicker chairs and end tables and two lamps. A gray carpet was on the floor.
“My roomie’s a mess. Come in, if you’re coming. Shut the door. You want a drink?”
“No. Just pack.”
“I’m going to love travelling with you, ugly. You mind if I take a shower?”
“Yes.”
“Tough. That’s just plain tough.”
“If you want to know how far you can push me,” he told her, “you can find out right now.”
She hesitated, and then she shrugged. “I don’t care. You didn’t want me to come along, you talked about me like I wasn’t there, so I got sore. What do you expect?”
“I didn’t expect you at all.”
“Well, I’m here. I’ll keep out of the way like a good girl, and I won’t make trouble with Edgars or anybody else. All right?”
Parker shrugged. “That’s all I ask.”
“So I’ll take a very quick shower. Quickest ever, I promise. Okay?”
Parker looked at his watch. “We want to be out of here in twenty minutes.”
“Fifteen. Okay?”
She was making an effort, so he ought to make an effort, too. He made an effort, relaxed his face a little, and said, “Okay.”
“There’s booze in the kitchen, if you want a drink. And I won’t call you ugly any more. Okay?”
Now she was overdoing it. “Just get moving,” he said.
“You’re hard to get along with, you know that?”
He didn’t say anything at all to that, so after a minute she went on into the other room. Parker found the kitchen, found a bottle of Philadelphia and a glass and a tray of ice cubes, and made himself a drink. He could hear the shower running.
She was available. Some other time, he’d probably do something about it, but not now. He ran to a pattern that way; right after a job he was raring, he couldn’t get enough. Then it would slacken off, gradually, over months, until he didn’t give a damn at all. When he was working, he was an ascetic, not out of choice but just because that’s the way he was built.
He stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the messy living-room and pulling at his drink. He heard the shower stop, and then she called, “You get a drink?”
“Yes.”
“Make me one?”
