Boldt by Ted Lewis

walk down the landing. I stop outside my door, put the key in the lock and push. Inside I take off my jacket and drop it on the table in the hall then walk through into the living area, go over to the table in the corner and pour myself a vodka. I cross to the window and look out into the dusty evening air and take a long drink.
    The apartment is full of dead air so I put my glass down on the sill and raise the window which lets in the dust and the sounds of the traffic and the smells from the restaurant on the ground floor. I drain my glass, go back to the table and make myself another drink then I lie down on the divan and shake off my shoes, balance my glass on my chest and close my eyes. But though I’m still tired now I’m able to sleep, the sleep won’t come, so I give up and get up and go into the kitchen and begin to scramble eggs. While I’m doing, that the phone rings. I go back into the living area and lift the receiver.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œListen,” the voice at the other end says. “It’s Pete.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œPete.”
    â€œYeah, I know it’s Pete, I can hear. Pete who?”
    â€œPete Foley for Christ’s sake.”
    â€œRight.”
    I wait for him to go on.
    â€œYou there?” he says.
    â€œYeah, I’m here.”
    â€œWell listen, you asked me to phone you, right?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWell, that’s what I’m doing. I may have something for you.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œListen, I could just as easily put the phone down and go back to my beer, you know that?”
    â€œGet on with it.”
    There is a pause then Pete says, “Well, look, there’s somebody in town maybe you don’t know about.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI’m damned sure you don’t know. In fact, except for interested parties, I guess I’m the only guy apart from those people that knows, know what I mean?”
    I nod my head, but really I feel like shaking it. From the kitchen comes the smell of burning eggs.
    â€œSo we got to meet and talk, don’t we?” Pete says.
    â€œPete,” I tell him, “say what you’ve got to say now, okay?”
    â€œJesus,” he says. “Look, you’re crazy, you know.”
    â€œOkay, Pete,” I tell him. “Let’s forget it, right?”
    â€œListen, listen,” Pete says. “You forget it, you’ll regret it. Believe me. This got something or nothing to do with what you said, it don’t matter. You’ll want to know it anyway. All sorts of people going to want to know this anyhow, and I call you up first, okay?”
    The smell of burning is getting worse.
    â€œWhere are you?” I ask Pete.
    â€œShit!” Pete says. “Where I am going to be approximately another fifteen seconds; I been here too long already. You say a place but make it safe, will you, not on the steps of City Hall or something.”
    â€œWhy not come here?”
    â€œAre you crazy?”
    â€œAll right,” I tell him. “Up at the Point. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. Will you?”
    â€œI’ll be there,” Pete says, and hangs up.
    I put the receiver down and go into the kitchen. When I’ve scraped the eggs out of the pan and put the pan in the sink, I open the fridge and take out a grapefruit. I cut it in half, sugar it and leave it while I take off my clothes and shower. When I’ve showered, I shave and put on fresh clothes and after that I sit down and eat my grapefruit wondering what in Christ’s name Pete Foley can possibly tell me that’s going to make my life any easier for me.
    I sit in my car, looking at the evening city and listening to its sounds. From where I am, perched on the top of the Point, parked among the sweet clean-smelling bushes, the city looks nice and clean, too, like an architect’s model does without people and cars and all the different kinds of dirt to