Drawing Dead by Pete Hautman

the sandal, giving him the peek up her dress, getting him all steamed up, finally buying a pair of red leather sandals and leaving the store. Crow ducked behind the avocado tree until she passed. Two kids with designs shaved onto the sides of their heads were watching him. One of them started laughing, looking right at him. After an intensely angry moment, Crow took a look at himself hiding behind a potted plant. What the hell. He would have laughed too. He followed Catfish toward the parking ramp.
    Apparently, adultery was not a daily thing with her. Not unless she was making it with the invisible man. The red Porsche screamed out of the ramp, onto Marquette, narrowly missing a taxi. Crow followed, pushing the Jaguar through the downtown traffic, staying with her until she had crossed the river and was turning into the parking ramp at The Summit.
    Crow parked by a phone booth at the corner of Hennepin Avenue and called Litten Securities. Janet answered the phone and informed him that Mr. Wicky was taking a meeting. He asked her how she liked working for Dickie Wicky. She said she didn’t work for Mr. Wicky, she worked for Litten Securities. He asked her if she thought Dickie was any good at his job. She said Mr. Wicky had been with the company for six years and was one of their top performers. Crow hung up, then dialed the number again.
    â€œMr. Irwin Jacobs calling for Mr. Richard Wicky,” he said, invoking the name of Minnesota’s high-profile corporate raider.
    Wicky was on the line within ten seconds.
    â€œRich Wicky speaking.” The voice was so contrived, so artificially deep, that Crow had to laugh aloud. He could almost hear Dickie’s face collapse.
    â€œSorry, Dickie. It’s me.”
    â€œJesus Christ, Joe, don’t do that!”
    â€œYour wife was a good girl again today.”
    â€œShe didn’t meet anybody?” Wicky asked.
    â€œYou’re disappointed? You should be happy, Dickie. She bought herself some sandals. I'm sure you’ll like them.”
    Wicky snorted, a wet sound that made Crow hold the phone away from his face.
    â€œShe set a new speed record for the Gaviidae parking ramp,” Crow added.
    â€œSounds like Cat. Spending my money as fast as she drives.” He paused. “Listen, I’ve got to take a couple guys out for dinner tonight. Cat knows I won’t be home, so she’ll probably go out. How about you stay on her, see where she goes?”
    It was a familiar conversation. “That’s what you said yesterday, and she stayed home all night. You sure you want me to keep spending your money on this?”
    â€œDon’t worry about it.”
    â€œI'm going to need a check from you.”
    â€œI said no problem.”
    â€œShe’s at home right now. You want me to just sit here?”
    â€œShe won’t stay long, buddy; you can count on it. You just wait awhile, and she’ll be out and about.”
    â€œOkay,
buddy
.”
    Wicky laughed. The sound came over the wire like a cartoon balloon: “Ha ha ha!”
    Catfish Wicky’s red Porsche was parked at an angle on the second level of The Summit’s ramp, taking up the parking spaces marked C. Wicky and R. Wicky. Crow found a slot in the next row where he could keep an eye on both the car and the elevator lobby. He passed the time by rereading Sklansky’s
Poker Theory
. Four cars over, a man was sitting in a big blue car, also waiting for something. Crow couldn’t see him clearly, but he could hear the radio, the foamy, pulpy sounds of lite rock echoing off the low concrete ceiling. He tried to push the music from his consciousness, focusing on Sklansky’s brilliant but nearly impenetrable tome. Lite rock oozed over the chapter on Game Theory and Bluffing. Crow was about to get out and ask the guy to turn down his radio, when the elevator doors opened and Catfish Wicky stepped out into the parking ramp.
    She had transformed herself from