“Black,” Parker said, talking directly to Ellen.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, and went through the arched doorway into a small crammed white- and-yellow kitchen. This kitchen opened directly from the living-room, so she could be seen moving around in there, getting the coffee ready.
As Parker sat down in the armchair near the door, Fusco said, looking around, “I guess Pam’s out in the back yard. That’s my kid.”
He looked around at Parker, seemed about to say something more, and then to realize this was neither the time or the place—nor was Parker the man—to ask him if he wanted to go out in the backyard and take a look at a three-year-old girl. Fusco turned away, moved vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, or maybe just toward the back window there, but then abruptly turned back and sat down in the middle of the sofa. They sat in silence then, Fusco fidgeting slightly and looking this way and that, Parker unmoving, waiting.
Ellen’s coming in from the kitchen with the coffee was simultaneous with Devers’ arrival through the other doorway, dressed in fatigue trousers and T-shirt. He was barefoot and looked still half-asleep. He saw the coffee and said, “One of those for me?”
“Get your own,” she said.
Devers stood with a pained smile on his face, trying to find something to say, while she put the two coffees on tables handy to Parker and Fusco. She didn’t look directly at anybody while doing this, and left the living-room right away, going out the door Devers had come in.
Devers beamed his painful smile at Parker and said “Domestic bliss. It’s just a funny game we have.” But when Parker just looked at him without saying anything, Devers shrugged and got rid of the embarrassed smile and went over to sit on the sofa beside Fusco. He picked up Fusco’s coffee cup, drank some, made a face, and said, “You know I like it with sugar.” He put the cup down, looked at Parker, and said, “You want to see the base today, right?”
“That’s right.”
“We’ll take a run out there. You mind if I make myself some breakfast first?”
Parker shrugged. “We’re in no hurry. I want to know some things first anyway.”
“Name it.”
“How long have you been stationed here?”
“Eleven months.”
“Finance office the whole time?”
“Right.”
“You RA or US?”
Devers frowned. “What’s that?”
“Maybe they changed things,” Parker said. “It used to be, RA on your serial number meant you enlisted, US meant you were drafted.”
“Oh. That’s Army. There’s no draftees in the Air Force.”
Fusco said, “You enlisted?” He couldn’t believe it.
Devers grinned at him. “I’m no place getting shot at, am I?”
“What’s your term?” Parker asked him. “Four years.”
“How much to go?”
“Seven months. I did a year in the Aleutians before I came here.”
Parker said, “You want to hold this job up till you get out?”
“That’d be smart. I leave the office, then they get held up. They’d come looking for me.”
Parker nodded. He knew that was true, but he hadn’t known whether Devers would understand it or not. He said, “What about the way it is now? Only seven months to go.”
”There’s two short-timers in the office,” Devers said. “One’s getting out in three weeks, the other one in two months “
“So the law will look at them before they look at you.”
“That’s what I figure.”
Parker said, “But they will look at you.”
Devers nodded. “I figured that, too.”
“How long’ve you been working your dodge in the office?”
“What dodge?”
“The dodge you bought the Pontiac with.”
Devers grinned and shook his head. “I saved my money while I was in the Aleutians.”
“You got bank records to prove it?”
“Do I need them?”
“Yes.”
