Latham.”
“That’s kind of you, because I’d hate to break up your marriage.”
“Also, and I don’t mean this to be an insult—”
“Translation: here comes the insult.”
“—but you’re a little too much like one of the guys. It would be like sleeping with my brother.”
“You have a brother? And he has boobs?”
“We’re getting off tangent here. What I wanted to say was—”
“I want to hear about your D-cup brother.”
“—we’ve been partners for a long time—”
“Is he my size? Maybe we could swap designer clothes.”
“—and you’re my best friend.”
His words sunk right through my skin, into my bone marrow, where they nestled warmly.
“Really?” I said. “Best friend?”
“Really. I just wanted to say that. And it’s okay if you don’t say it back.”
“Herb, I don’t want to burst your bubble, here—”
“Please don’t hurt my feelings, Jack. I break easily.”
“—but this isn’t the first time you’ve said this to me.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Herb, you say this whenever we go out and you have more than five drinks.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Not the part about your brother with the rack, but the best friend bit.”
“Do not.”
“Do too. Has to be over a dozen times now.” I looked at him. “Have you been hitting the sauce today?”
“Not yet. But I may step out and get a bottle of something to kill my embarrassment.”
“Counterproductive. Halfway into the bottle, you’ll be pouring your heart out to me again, wanting to get matching T-shirts and friendship bracelets.”
We waited some more.
“Jack?” Herb said after a few minutes.
“Yeah?”
“So when I’ve had too many drinks, and I say this to you…”
“Yeah?”
“How do you respond?”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “That you’re my best friend too, and I love you like a sister.”
“You have a sister? And she has a penis?”
“We should set her up with your brother,” I said. “They’d be perfect for each other.”
“They’d probably just wind up being friends. Hey, there’s the Caddy.”
Herb pointed, and sure enough Dalton’s DTS was on the move. He squealed tires, swinging onto the road, fishtailing before rocketing forward.
I threw the car into drive and gunned the engine. Hitting the gas in my Nova was akin to yelling at a mouse on a treadmill in an attempt to make it run faster. There were no squealing tires when I pulled out after him, and the engine made a sound somewhere between a whine of pain and a resigned sigh of defeat. I turned onto Division Street, hoping for a tailwind.
“Remind me again why we take your car,” Herb said.
“Just keep your eye on him.”
“He’s too far ahead. I think he just crossed the border into Pennsylvania.”
My Nova moved noticeably faster when Herb wasn’t in the car, but I didn’t say anything and risk insulting my bestest friend.
“I think he turned,” Herb said.
“Where?”
“Up there, at the Washington Monument.”
“You’re funny, like oral thrush is funny.”
We drove another block.
“Try pressing the accelerator,” Herb suggested.
“I am pressing the accelerator.”
“Do you need me to open the hood, wind the rubber band?”
“It’s not a rubber band,” I said, passing a minivan.
“It’s a mouse on a treadmill.”
“I think your mouse is sleeping. Or dead.”
I tapped the brakes and hit the horn to tell a cabbie what I thought of his driving, but the horn didn’t want to respond. “Where’d he turn?”
“Clybourn. Right.”
“Do you think he’s—?”
“Yeah. I do.”
We were heading straight for Merle’s U-Store-It. Was Dalton trying to clear out his storage locker? What if he did it before we got there?
“Put the cherry on the roof,” I said. A little while back, my antique stick-on police siren had fallen off, and I’d been given a slightly less-antique siren. Instead of a suction cup, this new one had a magnet to keep it
“That’s kind of you, because I’d hate to break up your marriage.”
“Also, and I don’t mean this to be an insult—”
“Translation: here comes the insult.”
“—but you’re a little too much like one of the guys. It would be like sleeping with my brother.”
“You have a brother? And he has boobs?”
“We’re getting off tangent here. What I wanted to say was—”
“I want to hear about your D-cup brother.”
“—we’ve been partners for a long time—”
“Is he my size? Maybe we could swap designer clothes.”
“—and you’re my best friend.”
His words sunk right through my skin, into my bone marrow, where they nestled warmly.
“Really?” I said. “Best friend?”
“Really. I just wanted to say that. And it’s okay if you don’t say it back.”
“Herb, I don’t want to burst your bubble, here—”
“Please don’t hurt my feelings, Jack. I break easily.”
“—but this isn’t the first time you’ve said this to me.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Herb, you say this whenever we go out and you have more than five drinks.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Not the part about your brother with the rack, but the best friend bit.”
“Do not.”
“Do too. Has to be over a dozen times now.” I looked at him. “Have you been hitting the sauce today?”
“Not yet. But I may step out and get a bottle of something to kill my embarrassment.”
“Counterproductive. Halfway into the bottle, you’ll be pouring your heart out to me again, wanting to get matching T-shirts and friendship bracelets.”
We waited some more.
“Jack?” Herb said after a few minutes.
“Yeah?”
“So when I’ve had too many drinks, and I say this to you…”
“Yeah?”
“How do you respond?”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “That you’re my best friend too, and I love you like a sister.”
“You have a sister? And she has a penis?”
“We should set her up with your brother,” I said. “They’d be perfect for each other.”
“They’d probably just wind up being friends. Hey, there’s the Caddy.”
Herb pointed, and sure enough Dalton’s DTS was on the move. He squealed tires, swinging onto the road, fishtailing before rocketing forward.
I threw the car into drive and gunned the engine. Hitting the gas in my Nova was akin to yelling at a mouse on a treadmill in an attempt to make it run faster. There were no squealing tires when I pulled out after him, and the engine made a sound somewhere between a whine of pain and a resigned sigh of defeat. I turned onto Division Street, hoping for a tailwind.
“Remind me again why we take your car,” Herb said.
“Just keep your eye on him.”
“He’s too far ahead. I think he just crossed the border into Pennsylvania.”
My Nova moved noticeably faster when Herb wasn’t in the car, but I didn’t say anything and risk insulting my bestest friend.
“I think he turned,” Herb said.
“Where?”
“Up there, at the Washington Monument.”
“You’re funny, like oral thrush is funny.”
We drove another block.
“Try pressing the accelerator,” Herb suggested.
“I am pressing the accelerator.”
“Do you need me to open the hood, wind the rubber band?”
“It’s not a rubber band,” I said, passing a minivan.
“It’s a mouse on a treadmill.”
“I think your mouse is sleeping. Or dead.”
I tapped the brakes and hit the horn to tell a cabbie what I thought of his driving, but the horn didn’t want to respond. “Where’d he turn?”
“Clybourn. Right.”
“Do you think he’s—?”
“Yeah. I do.”
We were heading straight for Merle’s U-Store-It. Was Dalton trying to clear out his storage locker? What if he did it before we got there?
“Put the cherry on the roof,” I said. A little while back, my antique stick-on police siren had fallen off, and I’d been given a slightly less-antique siren. Instead of a suction cup, this new one had a magnet to keep it
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