Did Liska identify him as a genuine suspect?”
“He said a lot of people wanted to talk to Zack.”
“See?”
She wanted to win, so I clammed up. After a few moments of silence I said, “You called me last night.”
“I hate to drink alone.”
“Lonely becomes lonelier?”
She flipped her hair to one side of her face. Her eyes locked on mine as if she were about to accuse me of something. Then they softened. “Lonely has too much to drink and picks up strangers. A bad habit from college, at least in my first two years. I could do just as well playing Russian roulette with half the chambers loaded.”
“My being there would keep you from drinking too much?”
She smiled and weighed her response. “I don’t drink that much anymore. But you would keep me from knowing I’m lonely.”
“So you’d still be lonely, but I’d distract you. My being there wouldn’t change your basic problem.”
She looked surprised, then pensive. She put her hand on mine. “I didn’t mean that to sound like it did.”
The breeze rustled the thin dark hair on her forearm. Suddenly I felt less alone, too. I regarded her face. She looked away. “Well, I didn’t mean to come on so harsh. If Lonely needs a hand to hold …”
She stared at the table and didn’t answer. I looked around the restaurant. Our waitress rolled flatware into paper napkins. A total of six people sat at two other tables. A note on a huge chalkboard said, THE NEXT PERSON TO BITCH ABOUT THE
WEATHER BUYS A ROUND OF CHEER. I took a sip of my iced tea and called to the chef: “Nasty damn storm this morning, Buddy. I can’t wait for this shit to stop. How about you?”
I got an Amstel Light, Teresa held with her tea, and the whole round cost me only eighteen dollars. I probably would get an extra-large portion, as well.
“Last night,” I said, “did you call once or twice?”
“Once. Why?”
“I had two calls. Yours and a hang-up.”
She waved her hand as if to shoo a bug. The bracelets on her arm rattled together. “I’m too old to play phone games.”
“I wasn’t accusing. Did you make it out to the bars?”
“Shit, no. I stayed at the office, working late, pulling investigative material off the Internet.”
Our food arrived and she didn’t offer any more information. A huge truck turned the corner, shook our table, almost rattled the food onto the floor. Even the quaint Waterfront Market had its own tractor-trailer to transport supplies from Miami. Our talk stopped while we attacked our meals. I finished mine and received permission to attack her unfinished sandwich. Buddy, the owner of B.O.’s, placed another beer next to my empty plate, put his finger to his chest before he walked away. On the house.
“Now that you’ve finished your meal …” Teresa looked me in the eye. A seductive look. “Is there anything else you need?”
I didn’t want to bite too hard, in case it wasn’t meant to be seductive. I sidestepped: “Could I get a ride home?”
The woman’s face showed a trace of affront.
“I didn’t mean that to sound like it did.”
“That’s okay. I mean, I wasn’t offering you a kiss good-bye.”
We walked to the car in bright sunlight. I didn’t have my sunglasses. Even dark things were too bright to look at. Puddles evaporated as we watched. Dust swirled behind vehicles on Caroline. The bumper sticker on the car parked ahead of the Taurus read: MORE SHIT HAPPENS IN KEY WEST. After sitting downwind
from B.O.’s deep-fat fryer, I still smelled like the inside of Spence’s Sunbird.
Teresa drove on Fleming Street, turned east, slowed near Dredgers Lane, and pulled to the left curbing. “Liska wants you in his office at three o’clock.”
I answered her with a questioning look. Why this news now?
“Well, you told me you didn’t have plans for the afternoon. I didn’t want to spoil our lunch.”
Just riding the four blocks from B.O.’s, I’d thought of at least six things to do during the afternoon.
“He said a lot of people wanted to talk to Zack.”
“See?”
She wanted to win, so I clammed up. After a few moments of silence I said, “You called me last night.”
“I hate to drink alone.”
“Lonely becomes lonelier?”
She flipped her hair to one side of her face. Her eyes locked on mine as if she were about to accuse me of something. Then they softened. “Lonely has too much to drink and picks up strangers. A bad habit from college, at least in my first two years. I could do just as well playing Russian roulette with half the chambers loaded.”
“My being there would keep you from drinking too much?”
She smiled and weighed her response. “I don’t drink that much anymore. But you would keep me from knowing I’m lonely.”
“So you’d still be lonely, but I’d distract you. My being there wouldn’t change your basic problem.”
She looked surprised, then pensive. She put her hand on mine. “I didn’t mean that to sound like it did.”
The breeze rustled the thin dark hair on her forearm. Suddenly I felt less alone, too. I regarded her face. She looked away. “Well, I didn’t mean to come on so harsh. If Lonely needs a hand to hold …”
She stared at the table and didn’t answer. I looked around the restaurant. Our waitress rolled flatware into paper napkins. A total of six people sat at two other tables. A note on a huge chalkboard said, THE NEXT PERSON TO BITCH ABOUT THE
WEATHER BUYS A ROUND OF CHEER. I took a sip of my iced tea and called to the chef: “Nasty damn storm this morning, Buddy. I can’t wait for this shit to stop. How about you?”
I got an Amstel Light, Teresa held with her tea, and the whole round cost me only eighteen dollars. I probably would get an extra-large portion, as well.
“Last night,” I said, “did you call once or twice?”
“Once. Why?”
“I had two calls. Yours and a hang-up.”
She waved her hand as if to shoo a bug. The bracelets on her arm rattled together. “I’m too old to play phone games.”
“I wasn’t accusing. Did you make it out to the bars?”
“Shit, no. I stayed at the office, working late, pulling investigative material off the Internet.”
Our food arrived and she didn’t offer any more information. A huge truck turned the corner, shook our table, almost rattled the food onto the floor. Even the quaint Waterfront Market had its own tractor-trailer to transport supplies from Miami. Our talk stopped while we attacked our meals. I finished mine and received permission to attack her unfinished sandwich. Buddy, the owner of B.O.’s, placed another beer next to my empty plate, put his finger to his chest before he walked away. On the house.
“Now that you’ve finished your meal …” Teresa looked me in the eye. A seductive look. “Is there anything else you need?”
I didn’t want to bite too hard, in case it wasn’t meant to be seductive. I sidestepped: “Could I get a ride home?”
The woman’s face showed a trace of affront.
“I didn’t mean that to sound like it did.”
“That’s okay. I mean, I wasn’t offering you a kiss good-bye.”
We walked to the car in bright sunlight. I didn’t have my sunglasses. Even dark things were too bright to look at. Puddles evaporated as we watched. Dust swirled behind vehicles on Caroline. The bumper sticker on the car parked ahead of the Taurus read: MORE SHIT HAPPENS IN KEY WEST. After sitting downwind
from B.O.’s deep-fat fryer, I still smelled like the inside of Spence’s Sunbird.
Teresa drove on Fleming Street, turned east, slowed near Dredgers Lane, and pulled to the left curbing. “Liska wants you in his office at three o’clock.”
I answered her with a questioning look. Why this news now?
“Well, you told me you didn’t have plans for the afternoon. I didn’t want to spoil our lunch.”
Just riding the four blocks from B.O.’s, I’d thought of at least six things to do during the afternoon.
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