“It’s really remarkable, John.”
“Isn’t it?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What’s remarkable?”
“Your bone structure.”
“I have one.”
“One what?”
“One bone structure. I’m very attached to it.”
“I should think you would be.”
“Yes, yes.”
“But you never noticed.”
“Never noticed what?”
“Never in the showers in Texas, or whatever.”
“It’s been a long time since I took a shower in Texas.”
“Al’s bone structure.‘”
“Al’s bone structure? What about it?”
“It’s identical to yours.”
“My what?”
“Your bone structure.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the width of your shoulders, the length of your back, your arms, your hips, your legs are identical to Alan’s.”
“Your husband’s?”
“Yes. Didn’t you ever notice? You must have been in shower rooms with him in Texas, or something. The shape of your head—everything.”
“Really?”
“You two don’t look a bit alike. You’re blond and he’s dark. But actually you’re just alike.”
“Something only a wife would notice.”
“He weighs ten or twelve pounds more than you do, I’d say. But your bone structures are the same.”
“That’s very interesting.”
She rolled onto her elbows and forearms, looking closely at his mouth.
“Your teeth are perfect, too. Just like Alan’s.”
“They are?”
“I’ll bet you haven’t a cavity.”
“I haven’t.”
“Neither has he.”
“How very interesting.”
She said, “Now I bet you’re insulted.”
“Not a bit.”
“I don’t suppose it’s polite to compare you to my husband just after we’ve made love and made love.”
“I find it interesting.”
“You’re saying to yourself, ‘The only reason this broad was attracted to me is because I have the same bone structure as her husband.’ Is that right?”
“Yeah. Actually, I’m terribly hurt.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m going to cry.”
“Please don’t cry.”
“I’m dying of a broken heart.”
“Oh, don’t die. Not here.”
“Why ‘not here’?”
“Because if I had to have your body taken away, I’d be absolutely stuck trying to pronounce your last name. I’d be so embarrassed.”
“Is it embarrassing being in bed with a man whose last name you can’t pronounce?”
“It would be if he died and had to be taken away. I’d have to say at the door, ‘His name is John, an old friend of the family, don’t ask me his last name.’ What is your last name again, John?”
“Zamanawinkeraleski.‘’
“God, what a moniker. Zamanawink—say it again?”
“—eraleski. Zamanawinkeraleski.”
“You mean someone actually married you with a name like that?”
“Yup. And now there are three little Zamanawinkeraleskis.”
“What was her maiden name? I mean, your wife’s?”
“Fletcher.”
“That’s a nice name. Why would she give up a nice name like that to become a Zamabangi or whatever it is?”
“Zamanawinkeraleski. It’s more distinguished than Fletcher.”
“It’s so distinguished no one can say it. What is it, Polish?”
“Rumanian.”
“I didn’t know there was a difference.”
“Only Poles and Rumanians care about the difference.”
“What is the difference?”
“Between Poles and Rumanians? They make love differently.”
“Oh?”
“Twice I’ve made love Polish style. Now I’ll show you how a Rumanian would do it.”
“Polish style was all right.”
“But you haven’t seen the Rumanian style yet.”
“Why didn’t you make love Rumanian style in the first place?”
“I didn’t think you were ready for it.”
“I’m ready for it.” It was eight-thirty. In forty-eight hours Fletch was scheduled to murder her husband.
Wednesday morning, Fletch had a great interest in not being seen by the police at The Beach. Doubtless, Chief Cummings had told his officers to pick up Fletch on sight. The man could not bear investigation. And he had enough ammunition to use against Fletch to make life very difficult for him. Possession of marijuana. Possession of heroin. Physical assault upon three separate police officers. And when Chief Cummings ran out of charges at The Beach, he could turn Fletch over to the city police to face a charge of fraud. Fletch was careful in his stepping.
In jeans, shoeless and shirtless, he started shortly after sunrise looking for Gummy.
It was a quarter to nine when July said he had just seen Gummy parking a Volkswagen minibus on Main Street.
Fletch found the flower-decorated bus and waited in the shadow of a doorway.
At twenty to ten Gummy appeared. While he had been waiting, Fletch had counted five police cars passing on Main Street.
Gummy was unlocking the driver’s door to the bus.
Fletch stepped beside him and said, “Take me around to my pad, will you, Gummy? I need to talk to you.”
Gummy’s face pimples twitched.
“Come on, Gummy. I’ve got to talk to you. About Bobbi.”
***
In the room, Fletch said, “Bobbi’s dead, Gummy.”
