leaned over to kiss her and she turned her head.
“It’s not been the same since the first time, at my house, when we did it,” she said.
“It’s never the same twice, Mel, but it’s elegant, every time.”
She shook her head.
“It’s like, once you got me,” she said, “you could cross another one off the list, and start looking for the next virgin.”
Conn gazed calmly out at the ocean that moved brightly in the early fall sunlight, the waves coming rhythmically in onto the beach without surcease. They walked well above the linear detritus of seaweed and driftwood that marked the high tide line in the sand. He never had understood why people liked to walk on the beach. The sand made for hard walking as it shifted beneath his footfall. Some of it got in hisshoes. When she was through he’d have to take his shoes off and empty them out.
She had begun to cry again as they walked. She made no effort to stop the tears, or to cover her face. The beach was empty. There was no one to see her.
Conn was courteous.
“Should we stop seeing each other, Mel?”
She stopped and turned to him, her face wet, her eyes puffy.
“I missed my period,” she said. Her voice was thick with crying.
Conn nodded gravely. He waited. She didn’t say anything else.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes.”
Conn waited another moment. Again she didn’t speak.
“Ah,” Conn said finally.
“I couldn’t go to our doctor. I put on my mother’s wedding ring, she never wears it, and went up to Lynn. They said I was pregnant.”
“Yes,” Conn said.
“You have to marry me.”
“Have you thought about an alternative?”
She shook her head violently, her eyes squeezed nearly shut. She wasn’t looking at him now. She was looking down, at the indifferent beach.
“No,” Conn said. “Of course not. Does the judge know?”
She shook her head.
“You have to marry me right away,” she said.
Conn nodded slowly, as if to himself, and shrugged.
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
Conn
I t was midafternoon, at a speakeasy on Chandler Street where the cops went. Conn and Knocko were drunk at the bar. There were pool tables and a detective from vice was playing pool by himself, stopping occasionally to drink beer from the bottle. The soft click of the balls made most of the noise in the almost empty room.
“I know you almost since you got here,” Knocko was saying. “I been your partner five years now.”
“Seems longer,” Conn said.
Knocko ignored him.
“And I don’t fucking understand you any better than I did when you got off the fucking boat with a brogue like a Kerry fishmonger.”
The vice detective tried to put the seven ball in the corner pocket and missed and swore to himself as if it mattered.
“Nothing to understand,” Conn said.
“You don’t think so,” Knocko said. He drank some whiskey. “You don’t think so. Take the time in Chinatown, in the mah-jongg parlor. You remem’er that.”
Conn nodded.
“We got five Chinks want to give us money to go away, tough Chinks, with guns, and you don’t want the money. You want to shoot it out. You wanna help me unnerstan’ that?”
Conn shrugged.
“I got a wife, and about two hundred kids,” Knocko said. “And you want me to shoot it out with five chop-chops in some fucking mah-jongg parlor. For what? That’s what I don’t get. For fucking what?”
“For nothing.”
“For nothing. Isn’t that darlin’, for nothing. Instead of pocketing couple hundred bucks a week, I can take five in the belly and bleed to death in a fucking mah-jongg parlor. What’s wrong with you, Conn? I’m serious. I wouldn’t prob’ly ask if I wasn’t drunk. But what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Unlucky in love, Knocko.”
“You mean Mellen? For Crissake, you just got married.”
“It’s not Mellen.”
The vice detective kissed the nine ball into a side pocket and set himself up for the ten ball in the corner. He laughed, and took a pull from an
“It’s not been the same since the first time, at my house, when we did it,” she said.
“It’s never the same twice, Mel, but it’s elegant, every time.”
She shook her head.
“It’s like, once you got me,” she said, “you could cross another one off the list, and start looking for the next virgin.”
Conn gazed calmly out at the ocean that moved brightly in the early fall sunlight, the waves coming rhythmically in onto the beach without surcease. They walked well above the linear detritus of seaweed and driftwood that marked the high tide line in the sand. He never had understood why people liked to walk on the beach. The sand made for hard walking as it shifted beneath his footfall. Some of it got in hisshoes. When she was through he’d have to take his shoes off and empty them out.
She had begun to cry again as they walked. She made no effort to stop the tears, or to cover her face. The beach was empty. There was no one to see her.
Conn was courteous.
“Should we stop seeing each other, Mel?”
She stopped and turned to him, her face wet, her eyes puffy.
“I missed my period,” she said. Her voice was thick with crying.
Conn nodded gravely. He waited. She didn’t say anything else.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes.”
Conn waited another moment. Again she didn’t speak.
“Ah,” Conn said finally.
“I couldn’t go to our doctor. I put on my mother’s wedding ring, she never wears it, and went up to Lynn. They said I was pregnant.”
“Yes,” Conn said.
“You have to marry me.”
“Have you thought about an alternative?”
She shook her head violently, her eyes squeezed nearly shut. She wasn’t looking at him now. She was looking down, at the indifferent beach.
“No,” Conn said. “Of course not. Does the judge know?”
She shook her head.
“You have to marry me right away,” she said.
Conn nodded slowly, as if to himself, and shrugged.
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
Conn
I t was midafternoon, at a speakeasy on Chandler Street where the cops went. Conn and Knocko were drunk at the bar. There were pool tables and a detective from vice was playing pool by himself, stopping occasionally to drink beer from the bottle. The soft click of the balls made most of the noise in the almost empty room.
“I know you almost since you got here,” Knocko was saying. “I been your partner five years now.”
“Seems longer,” Conn said.
Knocko ignored him.
“And I don’t fucking understand you any better than I did when you got off the fucking boat with a brogue like a Kerry fishmonger.”
The vice detective tried to put the seven ball in the corner pocket and missed and swore to himself as if it mattered.
“Nothing to understand,” Conn said.
“You don’t think so,” Knocko said. He drank some whiskey. “You don’t think so. Take the time in Chinatown, in the mah-jongg parlor. You remem’er that.”
Conn nodded.
“We got five Chinks want to give us money to go away, tough Chinks, with guns, and you don’t want the money. You want to shoot it out. You wanna help me unnerstan’ that?”
Conn shrugged.
“I got a wife, and about two hundred kids,” Knocko said. “And you want me to shoot it out with five chop-chops in some fucking mah-jongg parlor. For what? That’s what I don’t get. For fucking what?”
“For nothing.”
“For nothing. Isn’t that darlin’, for nothing. Instead of pocketing couple hundred bucks a week, I can take five in the belly and bleed to death in a fucking mah-jongg parlor. What’s wrong with you, Conn? I’m serious. I wouldn’t prob’ly ask if I wasn’t drunk. But what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Unlucky in love, Knocko.”
“You mean Mellen? For Crissake, you just got married.”
“It’s not Mellen.”
The vice detective kissed the nine ball into a side pocket and set himself up for the ten ball in the corner. He laughed, and took a pull from an
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