As they approached the gatehouse, Danny Pogue said, “So where’s the taxi?”
“First things first,” said Bud Schwartz. Then, in a whisper: “Remember what we talked about. The girl’s name is Annie. Annie Lefkowitz.”
He had met her that afternoon by the swimming pool and gotten nowhere—but that’s who they were visiting, if anybody asked. No way would they mention Molly McNamara; never heard of her.
A rent-a-cop came out of the gatehouse and nodded neutrally at the two men. He was a young muscular black with a freshly pressed uniform and shiny shoes. Over his left breast pocket was a patch that said, in navy-blue stitching: “Eagle Ridge Security.” Danny Pogue and Bud Schwartz were surprised to see what appeared to be a real Smith&Wesson on his hip.
The rent-a-cop said: “Looks like you guys had a rough night.”
“Barbecue blew up,” said Bud Schwartz. “Ribs all over the place.”
Danny Pogue extended his wounded foot, as if offering it for examination. “Burns is all,” he said. “We’ll be okay.”
The rent-a-cop didn’t seem in a hurry to move out of the way. He asked for their names, and Bud Schwartz made up a couple of beauts. Ron Smith and Dick Jones.
“Where are you staying?” the rent-a-cop said. “Which building?”
“With Amy Leibowitz,” answered Danny Pogue.
“Lefkowitz,” said Bud Schwartz, grinding his molars. “Annie Lefkowitz. Building K.”
“Which unit?” asked the rent-a-cop.
“We’re visiting from up North,” said Bud Schwartz. “We’re not related or anything. She’s just a friend, if you know what I mean.”
“But which unit?”
Bud Schwartz made a sheepish face. “You know, I don’t even remember. But her last name’s Lefkowitz, you can look it up.”
The rent-a-cop said: “There are four different Lefkowitzes that live here. Hold tight, I’ll be right back.”
The guard went back inside, and Danny Pogue leaned closer to his partner. The gatehouse cast just enough light to reveal a change in Bud Schwartz’s expression.
“So help me God,” said Danny Pogue, “if you leave me here, I’ll go to the cops.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“You’re gonna run, goddamn you.”
“No, I’m not,” said Bud Schwartz, although that was precisely what he was considering. He had spotted the yellow taxi, parked near a mailbox across the street.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Danny Pogue. “You’re still on probation.”
“And you’re on parole,” Bud Schwartz snapped. Then he thought: Hell, what are we worried about? We’re not even arrested. And this jerk-off’s not even a real cop. This guy, he can’t stop us from leaving,” said Bud Schwartz. “He can stop us from trying to get in, but he can’t stop us from getting out.”
Danny Pogue thought about this. “You’re right,” he said. “Why don’t we just take off?”
“Taking off is not how I’d describe it, considering the shape we’re in. Limping off is more like it.”
“I wonder if that gun’s loaded,” said Danny Pogue. “Or if he’s allowed to use it.”
Bud Schwartz told him not to worry, they could still talk their way out of it. When the rent-a-cop came out of the gatehouse, he held a clipboard in one hand and a big ugly Maglite in the other.
“Miss Lefkowitz says she’s had no visitors.”
Bud Schwartz looked stunned. “Annie? Are you sure you got the right one?” He stuck with it, digging them in even deeper. “She’s probably just pissed off ’cause we’re leaving, that’s all. Got a good taste and doesn’t want to let go.”
The rent-a-cop pointed the white beam of the Maglite at Bud Schwartz’s face and said, “Why don’t you fuckheads come with me.”
Danny Pogue retreated a couple of steps. “We didn’t do nothin” wrong.”
“You lied,” said the rent-a-cop. “That’s wrong.”
Half-blind from the flashlight, Bud Schwartz shielded his eyes and said, “Look, I can explain about Annie.” He was ummming and awwwwing, trying to come up with something, when he heard a shuffling noise off to his left. The rent-a-cop aimed the flashlight toward Danny Pogue, but Danny Pogue was gone.
Bud Schwartz said, “I’m not believing this.”
The rent-a-cop seemed mildly annoyed. They could hear the frantic thwuck-thwuck of the crutches, heading down the unlit road.