Fool's Flight (Digger) by Warren Murphy

good mood," he said.
    "Yeah, I am. I just came to a decision in my life."
    "What’s that?" he asked.
    "That you’re never going to change."
    "I could have told you that. I’m always going to be kind and witty and handsome and brilliant. Don’t you know better than to talk with your mouth full?"
    "You’re always going to be crass and insensitive and promiscuous and thoughtless and I guess if I want to put up with you, I put up with that."
    "You don’t want to change me?"
    "How long did your ex-wife try?"
    "How long did I know her?"
    "Exactly," Koko said. "I’m not even going to try."
    "Does this mean we’re going to go through life irritating each other?" Digger asked.
    "Probably. You can’t change. I won’t change. This is good Danish. Stop picking off those almonds."
    "I hate almonds. They’re so goddam skinny in those little slivers and they get between your teeth and hide there for weeks and when they finally come out, they’re mushy."
    "Is there anything else you don’t like?"
    "Yes. I don’t like French designer shirts ’cause they make them for fags with wrists like broomsticks. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. I don’t like most jockey shorts ’cause you can’t get it out and once it’s out, you can’t get it back in."
    "Getting it back in never seemed to be much of a concern to you," Koko said.
    "Quiet. I don’t like cocktail lounges that have those glasses with bumps on the bottom because they always drip water on your pants and it looks like you made wee-wee."
    "What else?" she asked.
    "I don’t like double crostics, because I can never understand the rules. I don’t like my mother."
    "Reasonable. Nobody likes your mother. Not even your father."
    "She never tried to feed me almond Danish," Digger said. "I hate almond Danish. What do you think about this case?"
    "I don’t know what to think. Ten people, every one of them a cipher. How often do you scratch ten people and find ten without some kind of family?" She shook her head. "But somebody burglarized Stermlieb’s room." An almond was stuck to the side of her lip. "I don’t understand it," she said. She picked off the almond and ate it. "Save me your almonds, I love them. Listen," she paused, "isn’t it about time you went after Wardell? Doesn’t everything come back to him and the money?" Koko asked.
    "I told you. I went to see him preach. I was impressed."
    "I don’t mean watch him perform. I mean go talk to him."
    "Yeah," Digger said. "I guess I’ve got to do that. But I’m really delicate at this kind of work. I don’t just go plowing ahead."
    "No? Let’s ask that stewardess. She’d probably swear that you’re great at plowing ahead."
    "Stop that. No, first I like to study the accident, and then I like to hang around the edges for a while and see who’s there and then I jump into the middle."
    "That’s very logical. Do you really do that?"
    Digger thought for a moment. "I guess not," he said. "I guess I do whatever amuses me at the moment." He nodded. "You’re right. It’s time to talk to Wardell."
    "Tomorrow," she said. "Later. Not now. Now we’re going to the beach."
    "I hope they have a stand that sells cheese Danish."

Chapter Seventeen

    Back from the beach. Digger had taken a long cold shower to try to take some of the sting out of his back and shoulders and arms and chest and thighs and calves and knees and neck and face. He congratulated himself on having had the good sense to keep his insteps covered all the time. They weren’t burned. That meant, when he committed suicide from the pain, he’d be able to die with his shoes on.
    He was shaving delicately in the bathroom, when he heard the telephone ring, and Koko’s voice say: "Who?"
    The she said, "Just a moment."
    She cooed, "Oh, Elmo. It’s for you."
    He came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and saw Koko covering her face with her hand hiding a mock smirk.
    "Here, Elmo," she said sweetly.
    "Hello."
    "Elmo, this is Jane. That