shake of his platinum head. He swept past me and around the corner into the living room. I closed the door and followed. Story of my life.
His back was to me, so I missed his expression when he saw Paula entering opposite. By the time he turned back in my direction he had on his Six O’Clock News face. “Where is he?” It wasn’t the smoothly modulated voice of the microphone and the telephone. It never is, in person.
“Dolling himself up in the toilet,” I said. “He had help going in. This is—”
“I’m sure I know who she is.” He flicked loose the buttons on his overcoat. Underneath was a brown blazer with the station’s logo on the breast pocket. He hadn’t been home long after doing the noon report when I’d called. I wondered if he ever did loosen his necktie.
I tried again. “You ought to talk to her, Mr. Broderick. She’s the audience you want to reach with your reports on narcotics.”
“Are you on staff at the station, Walker?”
“Excuse it, please.” I somersaulted a cigarette back and forth across the back of my hand. “Just for a minute there I forgot I’m just the guy that shovels out the stalls.”
His face softened, falling in on itself under the crisp snow cliff of his hair. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t pay me any attention. My head hurts.”
“You’ve done an excellent job, finding my son in less than twenty-four hours. You’ve earned a bonus.” He reached inside his blazer.
“ I owe you , Mr. Broderick. Three days’ fee, less the cost of a new suit and overcoat and some gasoline. I’ll explain it all in my report. You’ll get the balance back as soon as I see my wallet.”
The girl started a little, then crossed to a low chest that was holding up a lamp and opened a drawer and came over carrying my wallet, brushing past Broderick without a word. Her hand was cold to the touch. I bummed a pen off her and opened the check compartment and started to write one out for six hundred dollars.
Broderick said, “You’re just wasting a check. The money’s yours from a grateful client. Give it to the policemen’s fund if you like.”
I tore the check sidewise and lengthwise and voided the counterfoil and put the pieces away in the wallet and the wallet away in my jacket. That dedicated I’m not.
We stood around looking at each other for a little. Then Bud came in from the bathroom. He’d washed up and combed his hair, but the flush was still on his cheeks. He leaned on the jamb and tried to look like he was not leaning. His eyes locked on his father’s shirt collar. Their focus was still vague.
The newscaster moved his shoulders that way he had. “I’m sure you’ll excuse my son and me while we talk.” He was addressing a wall.
“I’m not so—” Paula fell silent. Father and son looked at her. She turned toward me, but I was busy trying to touch my nose with the end of my unlit cigarette. She went into the kitchen. I took a step in that direction.
“There’s no reason for you to stay, Walker,” said Broderick, not impolitely. “Your job here is finished. You must have other business that needs tending.”
“Thanks. I’m on my lunch hour.” I kept moving.
8
T HE KITCHEN WAS BRIGHT and ventilated and big enough to move around in without having to file a flight plan to get from the stove to the refrigerator, as at the Grissoms’ in Grosse Pointe, and it looked and smelled like a place where meals were cooked and occasionally burned, not like an eighty-year-old wall sampler or an exhibit at Tomorrowland. A blob of dried egg clung brazenly to the top of the oven door. I burned some tobacco with my back to a slightly discolored wall and watched Paula walloping pots and pans around and wiping the counter with short, savage strokes like a fighter jabbing the heavy bag. Blowing off steam the way only unliberated women still know how. I said, “How come you don’t catch cold?”
She stopped strangling water out of
His back was to me, so I missed his expression when he saw Paula entering opposite. By the time he turned back in my direction he had on his Six O’Clock News face. “Where is he?” It wasn’t the smoothly modulated voice of the microphone and the telephone. It never is, in person.
“Dolling himself up in the toilet,” I said. “He had help going in. This is—”
“I’m sure I know who she is.” He flicked loose the buttons on his overcoat. Underneath was a brown blazer with the station’s logo on the breast pocket. He hadn’t been home long after doing the noon report when I’d called. I wondered if he ever did loosen his necktie.
I tried again. “You ought to talk to her, Mr. Broderick. She’s the audience you want to reach with your reports on narcotics.”
“Are you on staff at the station, Walker?”
“Excuse it, please.” I somersaulted a cigarette back and forth across the back of my hand. “Just for a minute there I forgot I’m just the guy that shovels out the stalls.”
His face softened, falling in on itself under the crisp snow cliff of his hair. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t pay me any attention. My head hurts.”
“You’ve done an excellent job, finding my son in less than twenty-four hours. You’ve earned a bonus.” He reached inside his blazer.
“ I owe you , Mr. Broderick. Three days’ fee, less the cost of a new suit and overcoat and some gasoline. I’ll explain it all in my report. You’ll get the balance back as soon as I see my wallet.”
The girl started a little, then crossed to a low chest that was holding up a lamp and opened a drawer and came over carrying my wallet, brushing past Broderick without a word. Her hand was cold to the touch. I bummed a pen off her and opened the check compartment and started to write one out for six hundred dollars.
Broderick said, “You’re just wasting a check. The money’s yours from a grateful client. Give it to the policemen’s fund if you like.”
I tore the check sidewise and lengthwise and voided the counterfoil and put the pieces away in the wallet and the wallet away in my jacket. That dedicated I’m not.
We stood around looking at each other for a little. Then Bud came in from the bathroom. He’d washed up and combed his hair, but the flush was still on his cheeks. He leaned on the jamb and tried to look like he was not leaning. His eyes locked on his father’s shirt collar. Their focus was still vague.
The newscaster moved his shoulders that way he had. “I’m sure you’ll excuse my son and me while we talk.” He was addressing a wall.
“I’m not so—” Paula fell silent. Father and son looked at her. She turned toward me, but I was busy trying to touch my nose with the end of my unlit cigarette. She went into the kitchen. I took a step in that direction.
“There’s no reason for you to stay, Walker,” said Broderick, not impolitely. “Your job here is finished. You must have other business that needs tending.”
“Thanks. I’m on my lunch hour.” I kept moving.
8
T HE KITCHEN WAS BRIGHT and ventilated and big enough to move around in without having to file a flight plan to get from the stove to the refrigerator, as at the Grissoms’ in Grosse Pointe, and it looked and smelled like a place where meals were cooked and occasionally burned, not like an eighty-year-old wall sampler or an exhibit at Tomorrowland. A blob of dried egg clung brazenly to the top of the oven door. I burned some tobacco with my back to a slightly discolored wall and watched Paula walloping pots and pans around and wiping the counter with short, savage strokes like a fighter jabbing the heavy bag. Blowing off steam the way only unliberated women still know how. I said, “How come you don’t catch cold?”
She stopped strangling water out of
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