“As a matter of fact, Tom did ride. Kept a horse out in the valley, somewhere. Rode on Sundays, some week-day mornings. Yeah, he liked riding. He’d go alone, I guess.”
“Sounds like you were fond of him.”
“Listen.” Alex’s eyes became a little wet. “Fond of him … I loved that guy. He was a real gentleman. Except for his stupid, raunchy jokes everybody had always heard before. That’s what was so funny about them. He was one hell of a nice man. People like that shouldn’t die so young. When you consider all the shits who live a lot older—like me!”
“Gotta split.” Fletch put his beer glass on the bar, and held out his hand to Alex Corcoran. “Nice talking with you. Sorry about Tom Bradley.”
“Yeah, yeah. I gotta go too. My wife will be lookin’ for me.” Two of the other golfers in the group had left. Alex Corcoran picked his trophy up off the bar. “Come here, you little darlin’.” He kissed it. “Where the hell would a man be, if it weren’t for golf?”
“Home with the wife,” said one of the other golfers.
And they all laughed.
15
F L E T C H D R O V E H O M E in the dark, but the lights in his apartment were on and Moxie came to the door as soon as she heard his key in the lock. She was wearing an apron and nothing else.
“Gee,” Fletch said. ‘Just like a wife.”
“Not like wife.” With her fingers Moxie held the edges of the apron’s skirt away from her skin and curtsied, as a geisha might. “Like Moxie Mooney.”
He kissed her. “Your ex-wife called,” she said. He kissed her again. “Tom Jeffries called. Wants you to call him back.” He kissed her again.
“What did good ol’ Linda want?”
“Oh, we talked a long time. She told me what a male nymphomaniac you are, how unreliable you are, how funny you are. She told me about the time you called her from the office and said you were on your way home and then went to Hawaii.”
“There was a story in Hawaii.”
“She said the meatloaf got cold. How cruel you were to her cat. I believe she loves you.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her I believe you still love her.”
“Thanks a heap. I love paying her alimony.”
“Oh, she said you haven’t. Paid her any alimony, that is. I told her I didn’t understand that, as you have scads of money, have just ordered a sixty-foot motor cruiser, and anytime she needs money she’s to come to you, alimony be damned.”
“Terrific. What else did you do for me?”
“Told her you’d just given me a diamond tiara and a mink coat.”
“I’m sure she believed you.”
“I don’t think so, somehow. Go telephone what’s-his-name. He’s the guy with the broken back, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll run you a bath.”
“Why don’t we—?”
She put her hand against his shoulder and pushed. “Yucky, dirty, smelly boy. If I’m going to give my all for you, least you might do is remove the outer layer of pollution.”
“But, but—”
“Lots of evening left.”
She turned her back on him and hopped into the bathroom.
‘Tom? Fletch. How’s life at ground level?”
“Never, never, Fletch, have I known there were so many ants in the world. All day I spend in the patio watching ants.”
From the livingroom, Fletch could hear the bath water running. “You don’t see many ants when you’re hang- gliding I guess.”
“Actually, ants are sort of interesting. Just like people, only more so.”
“The Darwin of the patio.”
“Listen, I called you not only because I’m bored out of my mind but also to tell you a funny story. Cheer you up. A story under the heading
“There are some?”
“Jack Carradine called this morning, after you left. About Clara Snow.”
“What’s she done now?”
“You know she’s been assigned to the State House, just as if she were a real reporter?”
“Yes.”
“Well, while assigned to the State House she failed to report that the Governor’s press-secretary’s brother owns a car dealership which, if you can believe it, has been selling cars to the state police.”
“Clara didn’t report that?”
“She put her nose up in the air, looked all haughty, you know, as only she can, and said she felt the matter was too personal.”
“To whom?”
“A private matter, she said. Having to do with family life. Not in the public interest to report. Then she said the state police have to buy their cars from somewhere. Can you believe that?”
“It makes me angry.”
“Good. I thought it would cheer you up. Of course you know Clara’s been going to bed with the press secretary.”
“I thought she was going to bed with Frank Jaffe.”
“Him, too, Clara goes to bed with anyone who can help her career. You can’t say Clara doesn’t give her all. Which is why she’s being allowed to get away with this little slip of her’s.”
“Are you telling me Frank still isn’t going to run the story?”
“Jack says Frank called the Governor and told him to put an end to this corruption within a month, or the
“Jeez. I hope the competition gets wise to it.”
“You could always make sure they do, Fletch.”
“No. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Just trying to get you a job, man.”
“Not that way.”
“How do you feel, Fletch?”
“Lousey. How do you feel?”
“Lousey. See ya.”
“See ya.”
Fletch called the
“Classifieds,” the girl said. “May I help you?”
“Yes, please,” Fletch said. “I’d like to run an item in your Lost and Found column.”
“Yes, sir. What’s the message?”
“Wallet found name James St. E. Crandall write Box number—whatever box number you give me.”
“236.”
“236.”
“James St. E. like in James Saint Edward or something?”
