“Swell,” Winder said. “Did he have a cape? A ray gun?”
The young German tourist patted him on the shoulder and said: “You okay, ja?”
“Yah,” Winder muttered. “Fall down go boom.”
He picked himself up, waved idiotically at his audience and retreated to the men’s room. There he tore open the old lady’s envelope and studied the message, which was typed double-spaced on ordinary notebook paper. It said: “WE DID IT. WE’RE GLAD. LONG LIVE THE VOLES.”
It was signed by the Wildlife Rescue Corps.
With copies, Joe Winder noted glumly, to every major news organization on the planet.
Bud Schwartz shook Danny Pogue awake and said, “Look who’s here. I told you not to worry.”
Molly McNamara was in the kitchen, fussing around. Danny Pogue was on the sofa in the living room. He had fallen asleep watching Lady Chatterley IV on Cinemax.
Bud Schwartz sat down, grinning. “She brought the money, too,” he said.
“All of it?”
“No, just the grand. Like she said before.”
“You mean the two grand,” Danny Pogue said. “One for each of us.” He didn’t entirely trust his partner.
Bud Schwartz said, “Yeah, that’s what I meant. A thousand bucks each.”
“Then let’s see it.”
Molly came in, drying her hands on a flowered towel. She looked at Danny Pogue as if he were a dog that was supposed to stay off the good furniture. She said, “How’s that foot?”
“Hurts.” Danny Pogue frowned. “Hurts like a bitch.”
“He’s all out of them pills,” added Bud Schwartz.
“Already?” Molly sounded concerned. “You finished the whole bottle?”
“Danny’s got what you call a high resistance to pharmaceuticals,” Bud Schwartz said. “We had to double the dose.”
“Bull,” said Danny Pogue. “Bud here just helped hisself.”
“Is that true?” asked Molly McNamara. “Did you take some of your friend’s pills?”
“Aw, come on,” said Bud Schwartz. “Jesus Christ, there’s nothing else to do around here. I was bored stiff.”
“That was prescription medicine,” Molly said sternly.
She went back to the kitchen and got her handbag. It was the largest handbag that Bud Schwartz or Danny Pogue had ever seen. Molly took out another plastic bottle of codeine pills and handed them to Danny Pogue. Then she took out her gun and shot Bud Schwartz once in the left hand.
He fell down, shaking his arm as if it were on fire.
In a whisper Danny Pogue said, “Oh Lord Jesus.” He felt the blood flooding out of his brain, and saw the corners of the room get fuzzy.
Molly said, “Am I getting through to you fellows?” She returned the gun to her purse. “There will be no illegal drug activity in this condominium, is that clear? The owners’ association has very strict rules. Here, take this.” She handed Danny Pogue two packets of cash. Each packet was held together with a fresh bank wrapper.
“That’s one thousand each, just like I promised,” she said. Then, turning to Bud Schwartz: “Does it hurt?”
“The fuck do you think?” He was squeezing the wounded purple hand between his knees. “Damn right it hurts!”
“In that case, you may borrow your friend’s pills. But only as needed.” Then Molly McNamara put on her floppy pink Easter hat and said good night.
Nina was naked, kneeling on Joe Winder’s back and rubbing his shoulders. “See, isn’t this better than sex?”
“No,” he said, into the pillow. “Good, but not better.”
“It’s my night off,” Nina said. “All week long, all I do is talk about it.”
“We don’t have to talk,” Joe Winder mumbled. “Let’s just do.”
“Joe, I need a break from it.” She kneaded his neck so ferociously that he let out a cry. “You understand, don’t you?”
“Sure,” he said. It was the second time in a week that they’d had this conversation. Winder had a feeling that Nina was burning out on her job; practically nothing aroused her lately. All she wanted to do was sleep, and of course she talked in her sleep, said the most tantalizing things.
It was driving Joe Winder crazy. “I had a particularly lousy day,” he said. “I was counting on you to wear me out.”
Nina climbed off his back. “I love you,” she said, slipping her long legs under the sheets, “but at this moment I don’t have a single muscle that’s the least bit interested.”