'I need a room.'
'Fifteen an hour. Cash, in advance.'
'How much for a night?'
'How many nights we talkin' about?'
'One.'
'Thirty. Cash, in advance. No refunds. Any problems, I don't wanna hear about them. Don't own the place and I got no idea who does. There's no phone in the room, no TV. The hot water usually works but I ain't promising nothin'.'
While still concealing his wallet behind his coat, Frank peeled off thirty dollars and handed it to the clerk.
He slid an old register across the counter. 'Sign in.'
'You can't be serious.'
'House rules. Sign in.' Frank signed a phony name, watched the clerk pull a key from a pegboard behind him then slap it on the counter. 'Go up the stairs and bang a right. It's all the way down on the right. Number 110.'
Most of the overhead lights in the second floor hallway were either broken or missing entirely. The wallpaper was peeled and cracked, and the stench of vomit and urine hung stubbornly in the air.
Frank stepped over the prone figure of a man who was drunk, unconscious or dead, and continued on until he'd found his room. The lock stuck but he eventually forced it open. Smells worse than those permeating the hallway immediately assaulted him, and he hesitated before entering in the hope that the odor might dissipate.
A switch just inside the door turned on a grimy overhead fixture that bathed the room in a dull yellow light. The furnishings consisted of a bed, a nightstand, and a cheap veneer table and chair. The adjoining bathroom had no door, a small sink and toilet, and a nauseating stink all its own. The lone window overlooked an alley where a small group of people had gathered to consummate a drug deal. He pulled shut the tattered shade and cautiously sat on the edge of the bed, unsure if it could hold his full weight.
A fornicating couple began moaning and groaning in the room next door.
Frank lay back on the bed, still fully dressed, and his thoughts focused on Sandy. For the first time in years he realized he'd begun to pray, only asking that she might be spared whatever punishment fate had in store for him.
A siren wailed somewhere down the block, an argument broke out in the alley, and a boom box blared rap music a few doors down.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep refused to come.
CHAPTER 15
Gus tried his best to brush the lint and debris from his shirt and slacks, then straightened his glasses and studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He held up two ties, selected the one with the fewer stains, and clipped it into place under his shirt collar. Squeezing a gob of toothpaste into his hand, he dabbed at it then brushed his teeth with his index finger.
His father was sitting at the kitchen table staring into one of his crossword puzzle books. He coughed, scratched his chest, and looked up at his son as he entered the room.
'Why are you wearing that robe?' Gus asked.
'This isn't your robe.'
'I bought you a heavy one for winter,' Gus reminded him. 'Where'd you put it? Remember the blue one I got you?'
'Gus,' he said, looking down at his book. 'What's a – '
'Hold on. How do I look?'
' – six-letter word for trip?'
'Never mind,' Gus said, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. 'Can't even answer a simple goddamn question.'
His father shook his head. 'That's a tough one.'
'Do you think you can listen to me for a second?' Gus crouched down next to the chair. 'I gotta go pick up Kathy. You remember Kathy, right?'
'I don't know no Kathy.'
Gus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Anyway, I gotta go pick her up and bring her back here, okay? I'll only be gone a couple minutes.'
'Let's have soup.'
'Soup? Dad, it's seven o'clock in the fucking morning, what's wrong with you?'
He smiled. 'I especially like vegetable soup.'
Gus stood up and lit a cigarette. 'I'll get you a can on the way back. Don't turn on the stove, you hear me?'
'Can't make soup without turning on the stove,' he said. 'What's a six-letter word for trip, Gus?'
'Voyage.'
His father counted the boxes with his finger, his lips moving silently. 'Yeah. Voyage.'
'I'll be right back.' Gus leaned over and kissed his father on the top of his head. 'Stay away from the stove. I mean it, ya crazy bastard.'
The old man moaned and waved his book at him. 'Piss up a rope.'
Gus raced across the city, parked out in front of Kathleen's apartment and hit the horn. She appeared a few minutes later and groggily climbed in next to him.
'This is the last time we meet before ten,' she said through a sigh. 'You don't seem to understand how late I get in at night.'
'I know, I know.' Gus smiled. 'But this is a special day and I couldn't wait all morning.'
Kathleen rubbed her eyes. 'What's so special about today?'
'You're about to find out.' He winked at her playfully. 'I'll bet you've probably already guessed.'
'Nope.' She yawned. 'But do you have to tell me here? I really need some coffee.'
'In a minute.' Gus removed something from his jacket pocket but kept it hidden in his hand. 'Kathy, you know how I feel about you, right?'
'Sure.'
Gus cleared his throat nervously. 'I've given this a lot of thought, and anyway, I figure I'm not getting any younger.' He thrust a small box at her and blurted, 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you.' She stared at him blankly and he smiled. 'Go ahead, open it.'
Kathleen reluctantly took the box and flipped it open to reveal a ring with a stone too enormous to be real. She looked at him and shrugged. 'What's this supposed to be?'
'Will you marry me?' He hadn't finished the sentence when she burst into laughter. Initially, Gus joined her, mistaking her reaction for joy, but it soon became evident that she was laughing at him. 'What's so funny?'
'You're fucking joking, right?'
'Of course not.' He frowned. 'Why would I joke about something like this?'
'It's not even a real diamond.'
'Yes it is.'
'What'd it cost, a million dollars?' She laughed again and handed it back to him. 'I'm smart enough to know the difference between a real diamond and a fake one.'
Gus felt his face blush. 'Well, it's not exactly a real diamond, but – '
'I can't marry you, Gus.' She suppressed another laugh and rolled her eyes. 'I don't think of you that
