As for the young man with the suspenders and the giant arms, he was half a block away, walking neither faster nor slower than he'd walked before. Aaron did not go after him.
Chapter 19
He went back home instead, and the first thing he saw as he walked into the office of the Mangrove Arms was a crippled blind chihuahua curled up on the front desk, its scaly black nose resting against the cool metal of the service bell. The dog just barely lifted up its hoary head as Aaron entered. Its white eyes panned futilely as its twitching nostrils tested the air to find the new arrival.
Sam Katz was sitting in a chair behind the desk. His new friend Bert was sitting next to him, wearing a shirt of emerald green with a navy chalk stripe and a collar whose wings came halfway down his chest. The two old men were in the middle of a game of gin. Each had a stack of quarters at his elbow, and a ragged pile of cards was spilling over between them. Sam said, "Ah, here he is."
Bert stood up, gnarly hand extended. He said, "I come to visit the old man."
Aaron reached across the counter to shake his hand; the motion stretched the lingering pain down from the valley between his shoulder blades. Distractedly, he said, "Great. That's great."
Sam said, "You went out, I didn't know you went."
It was not an accusation, not exactly, but Aaron, good son, felt guilty nonetheless. "Had a couple things to do," he said. Absently, he petted the chihuahua. With every stroke, hairs the length of eyelashes fluttered from its scalp.
His father looked at him. Sam Katz forgot a lot of things, and a lot of other things passed him by entirely. But he knew his son. He said, "Aaron, something wrong?"
Aaron, a pathetic liar, said, "No, Pop. No."
There was a pause. The dog had exhausted itself, it wheezed and lay down flat again. Then Bert said, "There was a call for you. A guy Evans, Edwards, something like that."
"We wrote it down," said Sam. "Better we should write it down. Where'd I put the paper?"
He patted pockets till he found it, handed it to Aaron. Aaron looked at it then headed for the door behind the desk.
The old men went back to their game of gin.
Sam fiddled with his hearing aid, said, "Wait a second. Been too long, now I can't remember what's been played."
His friend said, "Tough titty, we're playin' cards heah."
"But I'll throw what you picked up already," Sam complained.
"Then I guess I'm gonna win," said Bert.
"It isn't fair," said Sam.
"How sweet it is," said Bert, and he reached out to pet his dog for luck.
"No way," said Suki. "Forget about it."
It was late afternoon. Inside the hot dog the light was getting slanty and yellow, motes of dust gleamed golden against the dull chrome of the counters. Pineapple was moving with his bedroll toward the ripped screen door. "We sleep outside a lot of the time," he said. "Really. Don't we, Fred?"
"Yeah," said Fred, halfheartedly. In October they did, or April. But this was January. Sunsets were early and the ground was cold by midnight. Sometimes a low silver mist, just barely visible, curled up from the salt puddles in the moonlight. Noses ran. Fred's knees were still stiff from the night before.
Pineapple said, "You'll have more room. A little privacy."
"I don't need more room," said Suki, though, looking around the wiener she had to admit it would be very cramped for three. A face next to the propane fridge. A backside folded to fit under the sink. The leaning sack of trash, at least, would have to go. "I can sleep up on the counter."
"You roll over," said Fred, "it's the 'kraut on one side and a long drop on the other."
"It's all settled," said Pineapple, though the truth was that neither he nor Fred was moving toward the screen door all that fast.
"Look," Suki said. "Why not wait till nighttime to decide? See how cold it gets."
Fred looked hopefully at Piney. Piney just tugged lightly at his scraggly beard.
Suki took advantage of their hesitation. "Good," she said. "And in the meantime, could I ask someone to do me a big favor?"
"Name it," Piney said.
Her mouth began to open but then she seemed to think again. "No," she said. "Forget it. It isn't fair to ask."
"What?" said Piney.
Suki had been standing. She plopped down now on the edge of the dinette chair, leaned an elbow on her knee. She said. "What if they have someone watching my apartment? To see if I come home."
Piney said, "Why would they expect you home? You're supposed to be ... ya know ..."
Fred said, "Even Lazslo thought you were ... ya know—"