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Show 51 Had they been in there all the time? How had she known not to answer the door when Jackson knocked? Were they in there now? Or had they left earlier in the morning, on foot, and he, Fogarty, had somehow missed them? And above all, who was that man? Fogarty sat on his own front stoop, trapped by his questions, watching the street go by. Above him the sun inched through a cloudless but hazy sky; across the street the pick-up did not move at all. Fogarty did not leave the front stoop all afternoon except to refill his glass with weak iced tea; did not, as he had earlier thought he might, wander down to the Hi-Brau. Malone would only have more fun at his expense. But that wasn't it; Fogarty did not leave the stoop because he couldn't, was compelled by some inner weakness to stand guard over these final proceedings, the end of whatever was happening, an end which his bones told him was near. He saw the people in nine arrive home-man, woman, and scruffy unhappy child-but he did not bother with them; and when the phone rang around six he did not answer it. It was probably Jackson, about to tell him to keep an eye out, to go try Sparkle's door. But Jackson's deadline was tomorrow night. Friday. This was only Thursday; this was Fogarty's own time. He counted the rings. Eight, then a long pause and eight more. Jackson for sure. An hour later Malone came by. "I tried to call," he said, "about an hour ago. Why didn't you answer?" "Taking a shower," said Fogarty. "I thought you ought to know about it," said Malone. "Know about what?" |
