cream.”
“There’s no time.” Bothered by the heat, Morgan heaved a sigh. “I don’t know who you are, Dudley, but you worry me. I wish you didn’t.”
“I’m a puzzle, I don’t deny it.”
“I can make things add up, but I have to force the figures. You see, I just don’t know. That stuff about killing kids, it’s easy to talk cold-bloodedly in the abstract.”
Dudley conveyed a look that could have been this or that, Morgan had no way of telling, no skills, he felt in dealing with him. The businessmen were dispersing, one into the bank, the others elsewhere, the sun beating on them.
“Ease my mind, Dudley. Tell me you wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“You’re the policeman.”
“But I don’t solve crimes. What I do is my best, which most of the time is enough.”
“You look tired,” Dudley said with an undercurrent of fellow feeling.
“I am.” Which was the whole truth. The last couple of nights he had slept poorly, allowing old sadnesses to come to bear, some in dreams. And Dudley, whom he had first viewed as a challenge, was now a burden.
“It was his birthday,” Dudley said quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“And he wore braces on his teeth.”
“Who did?”
“The boy killed in the subway.”
The mammoth approach of the bus was sudden and tumultuous. In the clamor brakes hissed and wheezed, and the back of the bus steamed. Faces peered through the square windows, some featureless because of the glare of the glass. Morgan waited for something inside him to take command.
No one got off the bus. The woman, lifting her child, got on with money ready for a ticket. With a fixed gaze Morgan watched the transaction, which seemed to take an ungodly long time. Then the bus snorted into readiness as the driver waited for the woman to find seats. Morgan stirred uneasily, as if scuffling with a decision too big for him. The bus rumbled away with a reek in its wake.
“Do you still want an ice cream?” Morgan asked.
5
MARY WILLIAMS WOKE WITH A START AND COULDN’T TELL whether it was the verge of day or the pull of night. Soldier was beside her, which startled her, and she shook him awake. “You weren’t supposed to stay,” she said angrily, watching him rub his eyes. He left the bed with a spring and pattered into her bathroom on the balls of his feet. A few minutes later, after letting in the full morning light, she joined him in the shower. “This is my home, not yours,” she said as he worked the soap over her back. “I set the rules, not you.”
“I hear you.”
He dried himself quickly in a small towel and her vigorously in a huge one that was rough on her skin, evoking memories of her grandmother, who had tossed her about in the same sort of towel. Her grandmother’s presence lingered in closets, in the sunshine that poured through the big windows, in the phantom creaks of floorboards.
She stepped on a scale, dampening it. “I’ve gained two pounds.”
“It doesn’t show.”
She stepped off. “You have no rights here except those I give you.” Then she began to cry.
Soldier lifted his sinewy arms. “It’s him you’re mad at, not me,” he said and gathered her in.
“Sometimes I’m scared, so scared,” she said.
“You got me,” Soldier said.
Left alone for a while, lips critically pursed, she got hold of herself and gazed in the mirror with only mild degrees of discontent and melancholy. Her hair, blown dry, was brushed. Her shirt dress was pima cotton, with faint blue stripes on white. Stepping out of the bedroom and glancing into the facing one, Dudley’s room, she nearly slipped back into a mood.
Soldier awaited her at the breakfast table. Coffee was ready, juice poured, toast kept warm under a plastic dome. Sensitive to his stare, she said, “Something the matter? My dress maybe?”
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
Sitting down, she scowled as he poured coffee from a Silax. “I prefer tea,” she said.
“I forgot.”
She accepted the coffee and drank
“There’s no time.” Bothered by the heat, Morgan heaved a sigh. “I don’t know who you are, Dudley, but you worry me. I wish you didn’t.”
“I’m a puzzle, I don’t deny it.”
“I can make things add up, but I have to force the figures. You see, I just don’t know. That stuff about killing kids, it’s easy to talk cold-bloodedly in the abstract.”
Dudley conveyed a look that could have been this or that, Morgan had no way of telling, no skills, he felt in dealing with him. The businessmen were dispersing, one into the bank, the others elsewhere, the sun beating on them.
“Ease my mind, Dudley. Tell me you wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“You’re the policeman.”
“But I don’t solve crimes. What I do is my best, which most of the time is enough.”
“You look tired,” Dudley said with an undercurrent of fellow feeling.
“I am.” Which was the whole truth. The last couple of nights he had slept poorly, allowing old sadnesses to come to bear, some in dreams. And Dudley, whom he had first viewed as a challenge, was now a burden.
“It was his birthday,” Dudley said quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“And he wore braces on his teeth.”
“Who did?”
“The boy killed in the subway.”
The mammoth approach of the bus was sudden and tumultuous. In the clamor brakes hissed and wheezed, and the back of the bus steamed. Faces peered through the square windows, some featureless because of the glare of the glass. Morgan waited for something inside him to take command.
No one got off the bus. The woman, lifting her child, got on with money ready for a ticket. With a fixed gaze Morgan watched the transaction, which seemed to take an ungodly long time. Then the bus snorted into readiness as the driver waited for the woman to find seats. Morgan stirred uneasily, as if scuffling with a decision too big for him. The bus rumbled away with a reek in its wake.
“Do you still want an ice cream?” Morgan asked.
5
MARY WILLIAMS WOKE WITH A START AND COULDN’T TELL whether it was the verge of day or the pull of night. Soldier was beside her, which startled her, and she shook him awake. “You weren’t supposed to stay,” she said angrily, watching him rub his eyes. He left the bed with a spring and pattered into her bathroom on the balls of his feet. A few minutes later, after letting in the full morning light, she joined him in the shower. “This is my home, not yours,” she said as he worked the soap over her back. “I set the rules, not you.”
“I hear you.”
He dried himself quickly in a small towel and her vigorously in a huge one that was rough on her skin, evoking memories of her grandmother, who had tossed her about in the same sort of towel. Her grandmother’s presence lingered in closets, in the sunshine that poured through the big windows, in the phantom creaks of floorboards.
She stepped on a scale, dampening it. “I’ve gained two pounds.”
“It doesn’t show.”
She stepped off. “You have no rights here except those I give you.” Then she began to cry.
Soldier lifted his sinewy arms. “It’s him you’re mad at, not me,” he said and gathered her in.
“Sometimes I’m scared, so scared,” she said.
“You got me,” Soldier said.
Left alone for a while, lips critically pursed, she got hold of herself and gazed in the mirror with only mild degrees of discontent and melancholy. Her hair, blown dry, was brushed. Her shirt dress was pima cotton, with faint blue stripes on white. Stepping out of the bedroom and glancing into the facing one, Dudley’s room, she nearly slipped back into a mood.
Soldier awaited her at the breakfast table. Coffee was ready, juice poured, toast kept warm under a plastic dome. Sensitive to his stare, she said, “Something the matter? My dress maybe?”
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
Sitting down, she scowled as he poured coffee from a Silax. “I prefer tea,” she said.
“I forgot.”
She accepted the coffee and drank
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