the telephone call to Detective Coley.
Koko is wearing all her underwear. Jane Block gets more and more interesting. Even if I don’t like blondes.
I wish I knew why that plane went down.
Chapter Eleven
Koko had already left the room when Digger dialed Interworld Airways.
"Hello, me-Jane, this is me-Elmo. I was wondering if you were free for lunch. Failing that, are you reasonable for lunch?"
"I would have been more reasonable for dinner last night, but okay."
They met at a small pseudo-French café just off the strip of million-dollar-a-millimeter ocean front-age that made up Fort Lauderdale’s famous Galt Ocean Mile. Jane was wearing a red-and-white-striped pullover shirt and short white shorts and white high heels.
"Kind of casual wear for the office, isn’t it?" Digger said.
"You know our office. It’s not exactly overrun by tourists, but I keep a wraparound skirt in the closet in case I have to look decent in a hurry."
"You’ll never have that problem with me. Indecent will do just fine." Digger ordered a vodka for himself and looked at her.
"I don’t drink," she said. "Just a Perrier."
"I knew there was something that kept you from being perfect," he said.
When the drinks came Jane asked for a menu. Digger passed.
"Aren’t you eating?"
"I’m drinking."
"You can’t do both?"
"Not if I want to concentrate on my drinking. Go ahead, don’t let me inhibit you."
While she studied the menu, Digger studied her. The young woman was breathtakingly beautiful. The thought of her buried away from the world in a quonset hut at the end of the Fort Lauderdale airport was as big an obscenity as thinking of diamonds never mined, laying for all eternity under twenty feet of dirt and stone.
When the waiter came back, Digger said, "She’ll have the rabbit food."
"Beg pardon?"
"The chef’s salad. With roquefort dressing. Moldy cheese made into goo is just what rabbit food needs to make it a perfect meal."
"Very good. And you, sir?"
"Another vodka."
"Will that be all?"
"No. Make it a double."
"What kind of a name is Elmo?" Jane asked.
"My father wanted a girl. He wanted to name her after my rich aunt, Aunt Alma. I guess he figured that was the way to get her money when she died. Then, instead of getting a girl, he got me. Well, he couldn’t call me Alma. Well, maybe he could if he was Johnny Cash. I mean, you can name a boy Sue. But Alma? But he thought if he named me Elmo, he might be able to get over on my aunt, impress her with the depth of his devotion."
"Did it work?"
"Not a chance. She died and left all her money to my uncle, my father’s brother. He had two daughters. He named them Mary and Margaret."
"That’s a stupid story. It doesn’t make any sense."
"I’ve got a stupid family. Aunt Alma was the stupidest of all. But she was rich. She used to buy day-old bread. She had a closet full of it. I’d go to visit her and she’d feed me bread. A lot of times it had green mold on it and she’d tell me to eat it because it was penicillin and it’d stop me from getting gonorrhea. I didn’t even know what gonorrhea was. I was seven years old."
"Did you eat the bread?"
"I ate around the mold. I fed the mold to her pet parrot. The parrot died before Aunt Alma. I think he had gonorrhea."
"I think you’re crazy," Jane said.
"No. Aunt Alma was crazy. Well, maybe I am crazy, a little crazy. My boss thinks I’m crazy."
"Why?"
"He thinks everybody’s crazy. That’s Walter Brackler, but I call him Kwash ’cause he looks like he has kwashiorkor, a body-shriveling disease. He likes being in the insurance business. That tells you how sane he is."
"How’d you get into the insurance business?"
"I’ll show you my scars if you show me yours. How’d you get to work for Timothy Baker and Crash Airways?"
"Don’t make fun of the folks who pay the rent. I was in college in Boston. I’m from Lauderdale."
"Boston’s nice. If you get bored, you can go downtown and watch birds fly into
Koko is wearing all her underwear. Jane Block gets more and more interesting. Even if I don’t like blondes.
I wish I knew why that plane went down.
Chapter Eleven
Koko had already left the room when Digger dialed Interworld Airways.
"Hello, me-Jane, this is me-Elmo. I was wondering if you were free for lunch. Failing that, are you reasonable for lunch?"
"I would have been more reasonable for dinner last night, but okay."
They met at a small pseudo-French café just off the strip of million-dollar-a-millimeter ocean front-age that made up Fort Lauderdale’s famous Galt Ocean Mile. Jane was wearing a red-and-white-striped pullover shirt and short white shorts and white high heels.
"Kind of casual wear for the office, isn’t it?" Digger said.
"You know our office. It’s not exactly overrun by tourists, but I keep a wraparound skirt in the closet in case I have to look decent in a hurry."
"You’ll never have that problem with me. Indecent will do just fine." Digger ordered a vodka for himself and looked at her.
"I don’t drink," she said. "Just a Perrier."
"I knew there was something that kept you from being perfect," he said.
When the drinks came Jane asked for a menu. Digger passed.
"Aren’t you eating?"
"I’m drinking."
"You can’t do both?"
"Not if I want to concentrate on my drinking. Go ahead, don’t let me inhibit you."
While she studied the menu, Digger studied her. The young woman was breathtakingly beautiful. The thought of her buried away from the world in a quonset hut at the end of the Fort Lauderdale airport was as big an obscenity as thinking of diamonds never mined, laying for all eternity under twenty feet of dirt and stone.
When the waiter came back, Digger said, "She’ll have the rabbit food."
"Beg pardon?"
"The chef’s salad. With roquefort dressing. Moldy cheese made into goo is just what rabbit food needs to make it a perfect meal."
"Very good. And you, sir?"
"Another vodka."
"Will that be all?"
"No. Make it a double."
"What kind of a name is Elmo?" Jane asked.
"My father wanted a girl. He wanted to name her after my rich aunt, Aunt Alma. I guess he figured that was the way to get her money when she died. Then, instead of getting a girl, he got me. Well, he couldn’t call me Alma. Well, maybe he could if he was Johnny Cash. I mean, you can name a boy Sue. But Alma? But he thought if he named me Elmo, he might be able to get over on my aunt, impress her with the depth of his devotion."
"Did it work?"
"Not a chance. She died and left all her money to my uncle, my father’s brother. He had two daughters. He named them Mary and Margaret."
"That’s a stupid story. It doesn’t make any sense."
"I’ve got a stupid family. Aunt Alma was the stupidest of all. But she was rich. She used to buy day-old bread. She had a closet full of it. I’d go to visit her and she’d feed me bread. A lot of times it had green mold on it and she’d tell me to eat it because it was penicillin and it’d stop me from getting gonorrhea. I didn’t even know what gonorrhea was. I was seven years old."
"Did you eat the bread?"
"I ate around the mold. I fed the mold to her pet parrot. The parrot died before Aunt Alma. I think he had gonorrhea."
"I think you’re crazy," Jane said.
"No. Aunt Alma was crazy. Well, maybe I am crazy, a little crazy. My boss thinks I’m crazy."
"Why?"
"He thinks everybody’s crazy. That’s Walter Brackler, but I call him Kwash ’cause he looks like he has kwashiorkor, a body-shriveling disease. He likes being in the insurance business. That tells you how sane he is."
"How’d you get into the insurance business?"
"I’ll show you my scars if you show me yours. How’d you get to work for Timothy Baker and Crash Airways?"
"Don’t make fun of the folks who pay the rent. I was in college in Boston. I’m from Lauderdale."
"Boston’s nice. If you get bored, you can go downtown and watch birds fly into
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