cigarette.
“I tried a pipe once. Kept dumping it on myself. Got sick of finding scorch marks on all my shirts.”
“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as clumsy.”
“I…was drinking a lot then.”
“Can’t picture that neither.” She winked at him. “You strike me as the kind of guy who’s in control. What? Did I say something? You sure you’re all right? I guess there must be a lot of work in this area for you then. What with every house on the peninsula up for sale, just about. Not that there’s any buyers anywheres.”
“Why’s that?”
An old man in a fur hat with earflaps stumbled over from one of the tables, and she handed him a glass. “Here you go, Slick,” she said. “Oh, thank you, honey. Did you hear about all that commotion by the bay? State troopers and everything. Some kind of accident, I heard.” She counted change. “So did you decide whether you want another one before I put this stuff away or what? Barry?”
Have to keep her talking, find out about the town…about them. But have to be subtle, have to…
Inexorably, the beer he’d tried only to sip uncoiled a knot of weariness deep within him, and he felt it spring through every limb. Helpless to stop himself, he realized that he was about to say something disastrously reckless. “When I was driving into town, I practically had an accident.” He strained to control the stream of words. “Some kid came tearing out of the woods right in front of my car. I think maybe I might’ve clipped him. But he took off. Maybe you know the kid? About fifteen or so—pale looking, skinny. Ring any bells? Long sort of blondish hair sticking out from under one of those caps. Any ideas?”
She actually took a step back.
Damn. Immediately, he knew he’d screwed up again. Big-time. If only he’d been patient, played her along. “I just wanted to be sure the kid was all right, know what I mean?”
She gnawed her lipstick, darkening the edges of her front teeth. “Uh huh.” She turned to slice a roll with a long knife. “Where’d you say you was from?” She looked up, scrutinizing him.
“Trenton, originally.” He’d have to talk fast now. “These days I pretty much live where they send me. Suitcase in the car mostly. One motel after another. So this kid doesn’t sound like anybody from around here?”
“Don’t sound like nobody I know.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe you ought to check with the cops.”
She knows him. He nodded, a pulse thundering in his ears. “Yeah.”
“Practically no teenagers left anyways.”
“Why’s that?”
“Runaways. We had a real problem with that. Something awful. You can’t blame them really. Nothing much to hold them here no mores. If you’re in real estate, how come you don’t know about this town?”
“Uh huh.” Meticulously, he prodded the corner of the beer label with his thumbnail. “I’m not in the sales end of things,” he explained as foil peeled smoothly from the damp bottle. “I just examine the structures, the land.” He replaced the label, upside down, smoothing out the wrinkles. “So, what’s it like living here?” Pouring the last of the beer into his glass, he smiled hard.
She got him another bottle. “Oh, you know, like anywheres else, except now it’s so empty. But I’ll tell you one thing, I wouldn’t want to live nowheres where I couldn’t hear the ocean.” She rinsed a couple of glasses, set them to drain.
Nodding and smiling for the next twenty minutes, he tried to draw her out about the town but could elicit nothing beyond vague generalizations, which seemed to reflect her genuinely vague outlook. Finally her mental fuzziness proved infectious: he couldn’t even remember her name. Margie? Tracie? He watched the ashes from her cigarette spill across the bar. After his third beer, their conversation lapsed, and she turned her attention to the other patrons.
“I didn’t have to get involved, you know.” Three people sat at
“I tried a pipe once. Kept dumping it on myself. Got sick of finding scorch marks on all my shirts.”
“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as clumsy.”
“I…was drinking a lot then.”
“Can’t picture that neither.” She winked at him. “You strike me as the kind of guy who’s in control. What? Did I say something? You sure you’re all right? I guess there must be a lot of work in this area for you then. What with every house on the peninsula up for sale, just about. Not that there’s any buyers anywheres.”
“Why’s that?”
An old man in a fur hat with earflaps stumbled over from one of the tables, and she handed him a glass. “Here you go, Slick,” she said. “Oh, thank you, honey. Did you hear about all that commotion by the bay? State troopers and everything. Some kind of accident, I heard.” She counted change. “So did you decide whether you want another one before I put this stuff away or what? Barry?”
Have to keep her talking, find out about the town…about them. But have to be subtle, have to…
Inexorably, the beer he’d tried only to sip uncoiled a knot of weariness deep within him, and he felt it spring through every limb. Helpless to stop himself, he realized that he was about to say something disastrously reckless. “When I was driving into town, I practically had an accident.” He strained to control the stream of words. “Some kid came tearing out of the woods right in front of my car. I think maybe I might’ve clipped him. But he took off. Maybe you know the kid? About fifteen or so—pale looking, skinny. Ring any bells? Long sort of blondish hair sticking out from under one of those caps. Any ideas?”
She actually took a step back.
Damn. Immediately, he knew he’d screwed up again. Big-time. If only he’d been patient, played her along. “I just wanted to be sure the kid was all right, know what I mean?”
She gnawed her lipstick, darkening the edges of her front teeth. “Uh huh.” She turned to slice a roll with a long knife. “Where’d you say you was from?” She looked up, scrutinizing him.
“Trenton, originally.” He’d have to talk fast now. “These days I pretty much live where they send me. Suitcase in the car mostly. One motel after another. So this kid doesn’t sound like anybody from around here?”
“Don’t sound like nobody I know.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe you ought to check with the cops.”
She knows him. He nodded, a pulse thundering in his ears. “Yeah.”
“Practically no teenagers left anyways.”
“Why’s that?”
“Runaways. We had a real problem with that. Something awful. You can’t blame them really. Nothing much to hold them here no mores. If you’re in real estate, how come you don’t know about this town?”
“Uh huh.” Meticulously, he prodded the corner of the beer label with his thumbnail. “I’m not in the sales end of things,” he explained as foil peeled smoothly from the damp bottle. “I just examine the structures, the land.” He replaced the label, upside down, smoothing out the wrinkles. “So, what’s it like living here?” Pouring the last of the beer into his glass, he smiled hard.
She got him another bottle. “Oh, you know, like anywheres else, except now it’s so empty. But I’ll tell you one thing, I wouldn’t want to live nowheres where I couldn’t hear the ocean.” She rinsed a couple of glasses, set them to drain.
Nodding and smiling for the next twenty minutes, he tried to draw her out about the town but could elicit nothing beyond vague generalizations, which seemed to reflect her genuinely vague outlook. Finally her mental fuzziness proved infectious: he couldn’t even remember her name. Margie? Tracie? He watched the ashes from her cigarette spill across the bar. After his third beer, their conversation lapsed, and she turned her attention to the other patrons.
“I didn’t have to get involved, you know.” Three people sat at
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