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Show 41 Sparkle. He felt strangely relieved. She had been irresponsible. He had done only what he had to do; and he would do nothing more. It was out of his hands. Jackson called around noon. Fogarty knew it was Jackson before Jackson actually spoke because the car phone connection always announced him with a brief electronic bleep. "Did you collect the sixty short, from number nine?" Fogarty had forgotten all about number nine. "Probably later today," he said. "God I hope so. It's my oldest girl's birthday tomorrow and I should at least get her a stuffed animal or something. Or is that too young for twelve? Tell me the truth, what do you think?" "It's not something I've thought about," said Fogarty, thinking about twelve, counting the years between twelve and eighteen. The small number disturbed him. "God," said Jackson, openly musing over the phone. "I shouldn't have had so many kids. And all of them girls. Girls cost more. I can't even afford my wife. Did you put the notice up on five?" "Yes," said Fogarty, unable to confess his recent cowardice. "She has until Friday." Later that afternoon, exhausted from having done so little all day and still without sign of Sparkle, Fogarty walked beneath the bright City sun, against his better judgement, to the Hi-Brau. Malone was there, basking in the cool dark, holding the palm of his |
