Fletch(24)
“I pop. You know that.”
“I know. But still. Pills aren’t good for you. They’re not natural.”
“They’re not biodegradable?”
“Natural substances are better. Like heroin.”
“The guy I’d like to rip off,” Fletch said, “is Fat Sam.”
“Why?”
“All the junk he’s got.”
“He hasn’t got much now.”
“Maybe next time it comes. Next delivery. Rip off both the cash and the junk same time. That would be beautiful.”
“He’s a good man.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s not a department store or something. He’s Fat Sam. A person. He takes care of us.”
“Think how much you could get if I ripped him off.”
“You’ll never be able to. You’ll never even find his stash.”
“He never seems to leave the beach. He never leaves the area of the lean-to.”
“He must. To get food.” Bobbi said.
“The chicks bring it to him. Wendy and Karen.”
“I’ve brought him food.”
“You have?”
“When he’s asked. He gives me money and tells me what.”
“Where do you get the food?”
“At the supermarket.”
“You just go in and take it off the shelves?”
“Yes. How else?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to rip him off. Just once. If only I could figure out where the stuff comes from.”
“I don’t care. It’s good stuff.”
“You said he’s going to be having a delivery in the next few days?”
“He’s got to have. He said he was short tonight, but he gave me all I could pay for. He’s always been good to me.”
“Did he ball you, too?”
“No. Wendy was there and Karen. I think they had just made it together.”
“It would be beautiful to rip him off.”
With apparent absent-mindedness, Fletch began to play with his wallet. He tossed it up in the air to catch it and a picture fell out.
Bobbi said, “Who’s that?”
“Nobody.”
She put the soup pan down and picked up the picture. She looked at it a long time.
“It must be somebody.”
“His name’s Alan Stanwyk. You’ve never seen him.”
“Who’s Alan Stanwyk?”
“Somebody I used to know. Back when I was straight. He saved my life once.”
“Oh. That’s why you carry his picture?”
“I’ve never thrown it away.”
“On the back it says, ‘Return to News-Tribune library.’ ”
“I ripped it off from there.”
“Were you ever in the newspaper business?”
“Who, me? You must be kidding. I was in with a friend once and happened to see the picture. On a desk. I grabbed it. He saved my life once.”
“How?”
“I smashed up a car. It was on fire. I was unconscious. He just happened to be passing by. He stopped and dragged me out. I understand he lives somewhere here on The Beach. Are you certain you’ve never seen him anywhere?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“I never had a chance to say thank you.”
Bobbi handed him back the picture. “I want to go to sleep now, Fletch.”
“Okay.”
Still sitting, he lifted off his T-shirt. When he stood up to take off his pants and turn off the light, she got into the bedroll.
He joined her.
She said, “Are you really twenty-six?”
“Yes,” he lied.
“I’ll never be twenty-six, will I?”
“I guess not.”
“How do I feel about that?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
She said, “Neither do I.”
11
There are no weekends in this job, Fletch said to himself.
So on Saturday morning he got up, pulled on a pair of shorts, and went to the beach.
Creasey was there, lying on his back, elbows akimbo behind his head. At first Fletch thought he was catatonic. He may have just awakened.
The beach still had morning dew on it. Up the beach, Fat Sam’s lean-to cast a long shadow.
Fletch flopped on his stomach.
“What’s happening, man?”
Creasey spoke without looking at Fletch.
“Nothing much.”
“Everything’s cool with me,” Creasey said. “Hungry. Haven’t any bread for feed, have you?”
“Twelve cents.” Fletch took a dime and two pennies from his pocket and tossed them on the sand near Creasey.
Creasey snorted. He was not impressed by the dime and two cents.
“You must be one of the world’s greatest rip-off artists,” Creasey said.
“The shitty store dicks know me now.”