Elmore Leonard: 52 pickup

Doreen glanced at her watch. "Quarter to eleven. I thought you were sleeping."

He came over to the coffee table and picked up the lighter. The John didn't move. He stared at Bobby Shy, at the flat gut and sloping shoulders and the veins that stood out in his arms like cords. Lighting the cigarette Bobby Shy said, "How long you going to be?"

Doreen shrugged. "All night if he's up to it. No pun intended."

"I got to go out for a while." Going back to the bedroom he said, "Come here a minute."

The John watched Doreen get up and follow the black man to the doorway. When the black man looked at him, the John shifted his gaze quickly and studied an orange day-glo painting of Spanish galleons at sunset.

Bobby Shy said to Doreen, "He look like anything?"

"You want to hustle a shoe clerk," Doreen said. "He been saving his money and his little dick a month for this."

"I'll see you later," Bobby Shy said. Going into the bedroom, closing the door, he heard Doreen say, "He's just a friend of mine, baby. He don't mind."

Bobby Shy got to the Kit Kat Bar about eleven-thirty. He liked the beat of the number and felt very fine right now with twenty dollars worth of top-shelf coke working in his head. There was a good crowd for a weeknight; he had to look around before he saw Alan and Leo sitting at a table toward the back of the place.

Alan looked up at him. Leo was anxious and asked him right off, "Where you been all day?"

"Sightseein'," Bobby Shy said. He took a seat, glancing over at the white skinny chick on the oval stage and pausing to watch her a few moments: a new one, not too bad; maybe he'd look into some of that.

"We been trying to get ahold of you," Leo said.

Bobby Shy nodded. "I got the message. I'm here, ain't I?"

"You want something to drink?" Leo had had six vodka and Seven-Ups in the past few hours; Alan, one Fresca.

Alan kept his eyes on Bobby Shy. "How you doing?"

"I'm fine," Bobby said. "Mellow."

"I can see it," Alan said now. "Coming in about five thousand feet."

"Not coming in, man. Staying up a while."

"You better land," Alan said. "The guy's been around. Looking for Cini."

"So what'd you expect?"

"He's holding back," Leo said. "Stalling."

"What you want me to do, run him over?"

"I talked to him on the phone," Alan said quietly. "He wants more time. He's figuring ways to get out of it."

"I would too," Bobby Shy said. "Look all around me for ways."

Alan was patient. He liked the idea of not ever raising his voice. "No, there's more to it," he said. "We got to look at the guy a little closer. He's not scared yet. He's nervous, but he's not scared. He doesn't sit home biting his fingernails, he asks for more time and then comes around looking for Cini. Maybe he doesn't believe it. Maybe he thinks it's a joke. You see what I mean? I mean I think we're going to have to dig the hole a little deeper for the guy and put him in, so when he looks up he doesn't see any way to get out. You follow me?"

"You want to dig a hole," Bobby Shy said. He looked over at the new go-go dancer again.

"In case we need it," Alan said. "Just in case." He grinned then. "I'll tell you, I got an idea, man, a way to do it that's un-fucking-believable. I mean it, I tell you and you're not going to fucking believe it at first."

Slowly Bobby Shy looked away from the go-go dancer. "Well lay it on me. See if I like it."

Alan was in control again. "There's time," he said. "First we see if the man makes his down payment."

Barbara said, "You want a drink, don't you?"

"I guess so."

She looked at him a moment, about to say something. Mitchell waited and it passed. He watched her take a fifth of Jack Daniels and two lowball glasses from the cupboard and place them on the counter that separated the kitchen from the breakfast room. Mitchell stood on the side away from the kitchen, leaning on the counter. He watched Barbara fill the glasses with ice from the freezer side of the refrigerator. He could smell something cooking in the oven. Pot roast. With browned potatoes and carrots.

"I thought we were going to eat out."

"I didn't think you really wanted to." Barbara poured two inches of whiskey into the glasses and added a splash of water from the sink faucet. "You looked tired this morning," she said, her eyes raising with a calm, nice expression.

"I guess I am. Last few days I haven't slept much."

"You should go to bed early tonight."

"I'm planning to. If Victor or somebody doesn't call."

"Haven't they fixed… whatever it is yet?"

"Still some machine problems. And now I've got a smart-ass union guy on my back trying to show me how tough he is." He saw her watching him and he said, "I'm not making excuses. It's a simple fact."

"I didn't say anything."

"I know you didn't."

There was a silence as they sipped their drinks. Mitchell lighted a cigarette and handed it to Barbara, then lighted one for himself.

"You didn't read Mike's letter this morning," his wife said. "Now I don't know what I did with it."

"That's right, I forgot. Anything new I ought to know about?"

"He still hasn't said how he's doing in class. It's mostly about parties. He's repairing his motorcycle in the apartment and there's no place to sit down. He has another rice and mushroom recipe he wants to fix for us when he gets home."

"Doesn't know whether to be a cook or a mechanic."

"Marion called. We're going there for dinner Saturday night."

"Fine. Who's going?"

"I didn't ask. I'm sure we'll know everybody."

"Yeah, I guess we usually do."

"The disposal's acting up again. It works and then it doesn't."

"Why don't you call somebody?"

"You said you were going to fix it."

"That's right, I did."

"About a month ago," Barbara said. "The first time it got stuck or whatever it does."

"Yeah, I keep forgetting." Mitchell looked over at the sink. "This weekend, I'll open it up, take a look."

"That would be nice," Barbara said.

"Probably the blades're out of line." He watched his wife sip her drink and place the glass on the counter again.

"I've been seeing a girl," he said.

Barbara's gaze remained on the lowball glass, still holding it. He couldn't see her eyes. He knew she was waiting for him to continue and he didn't know what to say.

"I met her about three months ago."

He waited again as she took a sip of her drink, her eyes still lowered.

"Go on."

"I don't know how to tell it."

"Try," Barbara said. She looked at him directly now. She seemed calm. "Do I know her?"

"No. We met in a bar. I've been seeing her maybe two, three times a week."

"You go to bed with her that often?"

"No, it's not like that."

"Then what are you seeing her for?"

"I'm trying to say, we started seeing each other, it wasn't just sex."

"Is she good in bed?"

"What're you asking something like that for?"

"Why, does it offend you? Your sense of morals?"

"I met the girl, we liked each other. It just happened. I don't know why. I wasn't looking for anything."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-two."

"A year older than Sally."

"I know. But she doesn't seem that young."

"Sally's married."

"She was, too. She's divorced."

"What's her name?"

"Cini."

"That's cute."

"Cynthia. Her real name's Cynthia."

"She's young," Barbara said. "She's different. You met her in a bar but she's really a nice girl. She's in love with you and she's ready to get married again. Anything else?"

"That's not the way it is." He was trying to appear calm and raised his glass slowly to finish the drink.

Barbara waited, staring at him. "If that's not the way it is, then why are you telling me about it? If you've got something going on the side, why in hell would you want to tell me?"