Long silence from inside.
'Do you have a badge?'
'Yes, I do.'
'I'm going to open the door on the chain and you show me your badge, all right?'
'Fine.'
The chain ticked back in its slot. The door opened three-quarters of an inch. Cini had an appealing, almost angelic face. And startling blue eyes. Very cute.
He held his badge up.
She said, 'How come you want to talk to me?' But she didn't open the door.
'I'd rather not explain out here in the hallway.'
Just then an explosion of sound came from the second floor. Reggae music.
'God, he drives me crazy,' Cini said. 'upstairs, I mean.'
'How about letting me in?'
'Guess I sort of have to, don't I?' She smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile.
With sunlight streaming in through the dirty window, the spare little apartment looked habitable. All the furnishingscouch, armchair, reclinerwere of another era, but in reasonably good condition.
The mess was what puzzled Mitch.
Here you had a very nice-looking young woman like Cini, and her entire front room was littered with half- consumed boxes, sacks and packages of junk food: potato chips, chocolate-covered graham crackers, macaroons, Twinkies, ginger snaps, mini-pies, bridge mix and something called 'Double Fudge Whammies.'
He sat on the edge of the armchair and looked at it all and then over at her again, and wondered how you could maintain this shapely a body when you gorged it on stuff like this.
Then he remembered the eighteen-year-old girl who'd killed both her parents. She'd weighed more than three hundred pounds. She'd told Mitch's partner that the only pleasure she'd ever had in her life was from a box of chocolates. 'People don't love me but food does,' she'd said.
Maybe he was looking at one of those people now. Who felt happy (and devoutly miserable) only when they ate.
She sat down across from him and said, 'I could probably dig up the receipt if I had to.'
'Receipt?'
'For the parking tickets.'
'I guess I don't know what you're talking about, Miss.'
'All those overdue parking tickets I ran up. That's why you're here, isn't it? Did the computer screw up and forget to mark me Paid?'
He decided to risk it. 'I'm here because I think you may know something about a murder.'
'I see.'
'Do you? A man named Eric Brooks?'
'No, I don't know anything about a murder and I've never heard of a man named Eric Brooks.'
'You were seen with him.'
'I was? By whom?'
'By a bartender named Ferguson.'
'I don't know a bartender named Ferguson.'
'He seems to know you.'
All he could think of was a lizard striking at prey, the way her hand lashed out and snatched a macaroon from the package. It was in her mouth and swallowed, in moments. Then she had another one. She was so cute. So slim. But there was something off-puttingalmost inhumanabout the way she'd grabbed that cookie.
Then she took a third one. And held the package out to him. 'I'm being rude, sorry. Would you like one?'
'No, thanks.'
She indicated all the half-eaten packages and boxes. 'I was expecting the blizzard to last several days.' She shrugged, trying to be casual. Smiled. 'Guess I stocked up a little too much, didn't I?'
'I guess so.'
'I mean, I don't usually eat like this.'
'Be my guest.'
'You wouldn't mind if I had a piece of candy?'
'Not at all.'
It was then he noticed that her hands had begun to twitch and her eyes fill with tears. 'I really fucking resent this, you know.'
'Resent what?'
'You coming here and accusing me of something I don't know anything about.'
'I'm simply doing my job.'
'Right. Doing your job. You're accusing me of lying is what you're doing.'
'I'm not accusing you of anything.'
This time she was rewarded with two Double Fudge Whammies for her lizard-quickness.
She talked while her mouth was still full. It should have been funny. But it was sad.
'I'm sorry I said the ''f' word.'
'I've been known to use it myself.'
'I've really never heard of Eric Brooks.'
'I see.'
'You still don't believe me, huh?'
'No, I'm afraid I don't.'
'Do you enjoy this?'
'Asking questions, you mean?'
'Bullying people. That's what you're doing, you know. Bullying me.' She took another Double Fudge Whammie. The package rattled with her ferocity.
'You know what I think I should do?' Mitch said.
'What?'
'I think I should leave my card and let you think about it for a while.'
'Think about what?'
'About telling me the truth.'
'I am telling you the truth.'
'Just think about it for a while, and if you change your mind then give me a call.'
'Eric Brooks is a name I'd never heard before you knocked on my door.'
Mitch stood up. The tiny apartment suddenly felt oppressive. All the years of this place, all the lives, crowding in on him ghost-like. He wanted cold dirty city air. Wanted it desperately.
He took his wallet from inside his tweed sport jacket. The white business card he extracted, he set on the edge of the couch, right on top of a potato chip bag.
'You're a very nice-looking young woman.'
'Are you coming on to me?'
'No, I'm just trying to tell you that you shouldn't put all that junk into your system.'
'You must be a part-time minister at night.'
He'd seen them before like this. So terrified of their situation that they became hard and angry. They wanted somebody to help them avoid their fate. But there was no escape from their fate. They knew something the police needed to know and eventually they'd be forced to tell it.
He walked over to the door.
'My home number's on the card, too.'
'Fine. But I won't be needing it. I won't be calling.'
'Just in case.'
