87th Precinct - He Who Hesitates Part 12

"I don't."

"I don't think you have to."

Roger ignored her meaning. "So if you want another drink," he said.

"Yes, thank you, I will have another drink," she said.

"Waiter," he called. The waiter came to the table. "Another beer, and another whiskey sour," Roger said.

"Light on the lemon," Molly said.

"Light on the lemon," Roger said to the waiter. He liked the way she told him what she wanted and not the waiter. Somehow, this was very flattering, and very pleasing, almost as if the waiter didn't exist at all. He watched as the waiter walked back to the bar and placed the order. He turned to Molly then and said, "How's she doing out there? Doris."

"Oh, fine. I heard from her only last week. I still haven't answered. She doesn't even know I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I decided very suddenly, and her letter arrived the day before I left, so I didn't get a chance to answer it. I've been so busy running around trying to find a job since I got here . . ."

"She's probably wondering why you haven't written."

"It's only been a week," Molly said. "Since I'm here, is all."

"Still. If she's a good friend . . ."

"Yes, she is."

"You ought to let her know where you are."

"I will. I'll write to her when I get back to the hotel tonight." Molly smiled. "You make me feel guilty."

"I didn't mean to make you feel guilty," Roger said. "I just thought since Doris seemed to mean so much to you-"

"Yes, I understand, it's all right," Molly said, and .smiled again.

The waiter brought their drinks, and left them alone once more. The crowd in the bar was thinning. No one paid them the slightest attention. They were strangers in a city as large as the universe.

"How much are you paying for your room?" Molly asked.

"What? Oh ... uh ... four dollars. A night."

"That's really inexpensive," Molly said.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah, it is."

"Is it a nice room?"

"It's okay."

"Where's the loo? Down the hall?"

"The what?"

"The loo." She looked at his puzzled expression. "The toilet."

"Oh. Yes. Down the hall."

"That's not so bad. If it's a nice-sized room, I mean."

"It's pretty fair-sized. A nice lady runs it, I've got to tell you, though . . ."

"Yes?"

"I saw a rat there."

"Rats I can do without."

"You and me both."

"What'd you do?"

"I killed it," Roger said flatly.

"I'm even afraid of mice," Molly said. "I could never find the courage to kill a rat."

"Well, it was pretty horrible," Roger said. "This area's infested with them, though, you know. I wouldn't be surprised if there was more rats than people in this area."

"Please," she said, wincing. "I won't be able to sleep tonight."

"Oh, you very rarely see them," he said. "You might hear one of them, but you rarely see them. This one must have been an old guy, otherwise he wouldn't have been so slow. You should have been there. He got up on his hind legs when I backed him in the corner, and he-"

"Please," she said. "Don't." And shuddered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"That's all right." She picked up her drink and took a swallow. "I'll never be able to sleep tonight," she said, and very quickly added, "Alone."

Roger did not say anything.

"I'll be scared to death," she said, and shuddered again, and again took a swallow of her drink. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, scaring a girl half to death?"

"I'm sorry," Roger said.

"That's all right," Molly answered, and finished her drink, and then giggled. "How large is your room?" she asked.

"Fair-sized."

"Well, how large is that?"

"I don't really know. I'm not too good on sizes."

"I'm very good on sizes." Molly paused and smiled tentatively, as though embarra.s.sed by what she was about to say and do. She picked up her empty gla.s.s and tried to drain a few more drops from it, and then put it down on the table and said, very casually, "I'd like to see that room of yours. It sounds really inexpensive. If it's a good-sized room, I might move from where I am. That is, if it's really as inexpensive as you say it is."

"Yes, it's only four dollars."

"I'd like to see the room," she said, and raised her eyes from her gla.s.s for only a moment, and then lowered them again.

"I could take you there," Roger said.

"Would you?"

"Sure."

"Just for a minute. Just to see what it's like."

"Sure."

"I'd appreciate that," Molly said. Her eyes were still lowered. She was blushing furiously.

"I'll get your coat," Roger said, and stood up.

As he helped her into it, she glanced up over her shoulder and said, "How did you kill it? The rat, I mean."

"I squeezed it in my hands," Roger said.

The headwaiter was leading the detective and the woman to a table as Roger checked his coat. The woman was wearing a pale blue dress, a jumper he supposed you called it, over a long-sleeved white blouse. She smiled up at the headwaiter as he pulled out the chair for her, and then sat, and immediately put both hands across the table to cover the detective's hands as he sat opposite her. "Thank you," Roger said to the hatcheck girl, and put the ticket she handed him into his jacket pocket. The headwaiter was coming toward the front of the restaurant again. He looked French. Roger hoped this wasn't a French restaurant.

"Bon jour, monsieur," the headwaiter said, and Roger thought Oh boy. "How many will you be, sir?"

"I'm alone," Roger said.

"Out, monsieur, this way, please."

Roger followed the headwaiter into the restaurant. For a moment, he thought he was being led to the other end of the room, but the headwaiter was simply making a wide detour around a serving tray near one of the tables. He stopped at a table some five feet away from the detective and the woman.

"Voild, monsieur," the headwaiter said, and held out a chair.

"How about the table over there?" Roger said. "Near the wall."

"Monsieur?" the headwaiter said, turning, his eyebrows raised.

"That table," Roger said, and pointed to the table immediately adjacent to the detective's.

"Out, monsieur, certainement," the headwaiter said, and shoved the chair back under the table with an air of annoyed efficiency. He led Roger to the table against the wall, turned it out at an angle so that Roger could seat himself on the cushioned bench behind it, and then moved it back to its original position. "Would monsieur care for a c.o.c.ktail?"

"No," Roger said. "Thank you."

"Would you like to see a menu now, sir?"

"Yes," Roger said. "Yes, I would."

The headwaiter snapped his fingers. "La carte pour monsieur," he said to one of the table waiters and then made a brief bow and disappeared. The table waiter brought a menu to Roger and he thanked him and opened it.

"Well, what do you think?" the detective said.

The woman did not answer. Roger, his head buried in the menu, wondered why the woman did not answer.

"I suppose so," the detective said.

Again, the woman did not answer. Roger kept looking at the menu, not wanting to seem as if he were eavesdropping.

"Well, sure, you always do," the detective said.

The funny thing, Roger thought, without looking up from the menu, was that the detective was doing all the talking. But more than that, he seemed to be holding a conversation, saying things that sounded as if they were answers to something the woman had said each time, only the woman hadn't said a single word.

"Here are the drinks," the detective said, and Roger put down his menu and looked up as a waiter in a red jacket brought what looked like two whiskey-sodas to the table. The detective picked up his gla.s.s and held it in the air and the woman clinked her gla.s.s against his, but neither of the two said a word. The woman took a short sip of her drink and then put it down. Glancing briefly at their table, Roger saw that she was wearing a wedding band and an engagement ring. The woman, then, was the detective's wife.

The detective took a long swallow of his drink, and then put the gla.s.s down. "Good," he said.

His wife nodded and said nothing. Roger turned away and picked up the menu again.

"Did f.a.n.n.y finally get there?" the detective asked.

Again, there was a long pause. Roger frowned behind his menu, waiting.

"Did she give you any reason?" the detective said.

Another pause.

"What kind of excuse is that?" the detective said.

Roger put down his menu and turned.

The woman's elbows were on the table, her hands were poised in front of and a trifle below her face. Her fingers were long and slender. The nails were manicured and polished a bright red. As she moved her hands in a fluid, swift series of gestures, the nails danced like tiny flames.

For a moment, Roger didn't know what she was doing. Was she kidding, was that it?

And then he saw her face behind the hands.

Her face was more lovely than he realized, the black hair combed sleekly back from the woman's forehead, the black eyebrows arched high over deep brown eyes, no, one eyebrow was dropping now, dipping low over her left eye in a sinister frown, the woman's mouth was curling into a sneer, her nostrils were dilating, her hands moved differently now, they moved in the exaggerated slick oiliness of a silent movie villain, the woman's fingers touched her upper lip, twirled an imaginary mustache, the detective laughed, the mask of villainy dropped from her face, her eyes sparkled with humor, the white teeth flashed behind her lips, the smile broke on her face like the sound of bells, and all the while her long slender fingers moved, the detective watching her hands, and then shifting his attention to her face again, the entire face in constant motion, her mouth and her eyes augmenting the music of her hands, the sound of her hands, her face open and honest and naive, the face of a little girl, mugging, exaggerating, acting, explaining. Why, she's talking with her face and her hands! Roger thought, and suddenly realized the woman was a deaf-mute.

He turned away because he didn't want her to think he was staring at her handicap.

But the detective was laughing. His wife had apparently finished her story about f.a.n.n.y, whoever that was, and now the detective was laughing fit to bust, sputtering and choking and d.a.m.n near slapping the table top, so that Roger himself was forced to smile and even the waiter, who had padded up the table to take Roger's order, smiled with him.

"I'd just like some eggs," Roger said.