Double Play

15.

They lay naked in bed together in Burke’s apartment, smoking, and listening to Martin Block. He lay on his back. Lauren lay on her side looking at the scars across his chest and stomach.

“Are those all bullets?” she said.

“Some is surgery,” Burke said.

“Did it hurt?”

Burke was silent for a time thinking about her question. Lauren rested her left cheek against his right shoulder and looked at him from very close up.

“Would you rather not talk about it?” she said.

“Hurt’s not the right word,” Burke said.

“What is?”

“When you first get it, you feel like you’ve been hit but there’s no big pain right away. And if you’re lucky the medics get there and fill you full of morphine and it kind of smoothes you out for a while, and then it’s like going into a bad tunnel and nothing makes much sense.”

“Were you in the hospital for a long time?”

“Yes.”

“Was that awful?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about that?”

“The funny thing,” Burke said, “is I don’t mind talking about getting shot. But I mind talking about the hospital.”

Lauren was quiet. The blue cigarette smoke drifted toward the ceiling.

“You killed two men last night,” Lauren said after a while.

“Yes.”

“You were protecting me.”

“Yes.”

“So why didn’t you shoot Louis?”

“You didn’t want me to.”

“I mean before. Why did you shoot those other men first.”

“They were dangerous.”

“And Louis wasn’t?”

“Not like that,” Burke said.

“How does it feel?”

“Doesn’t feel like anything,” Burke said.

“Did you like beating up Louis?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Was it like you think shooting your wife’s boyfriend would be?”

“Ex-wife,” Burke said.

“Of course,” Lauren said. “Was that what it felt like?”

Burke didn’t answer.

“Was it?” Lauren said.

Again Burke paused.

Then he said, “No. It wasn’t like that.”

On the radio, Buddy Clark was singing “Linda.” They listened to it. Lauren finished her cigarette and snubbed it carelessly in the ashtray by the bedside, so that it wasn’t completely out, and a small acrid twist of smoke rose from it still. Burke leaned across her and put his cigarette out in the ashtray, and then put Lauren’s out completely.

“What do you think Louis will do?” Lauren said.

“Hard to say.”

“Do you think he’ll try to get even?”

“Maybe,” Burke said. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s the first time anyone ever rubbed his nose in it.”

“Which means?”

“Maybe he’s learned something.”

Lauren moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

“I think he’ll try to get even.”

Burke shrugged.

“That’s up to him,” Burke said.

“Do you care?” Lauren said.

Burke almost smiled.

“No more than usual,” he said.

“It frightens me,” Lauren said.

“Un huh.”

“And maybe... I don’t know... titillates me?”

“Un huh.”

“But you’ll be protecting me.”

“Un huh.”

“You won’t let him hurt me.”

“No.”

“Or you.”

“No.”

“I care about you.”

Burke didn’t say anything. He fumbled another Camel from the pack on the bedside table and lit it and lay on his back smoking.

“I do care about you, you know,” Lauren said.

“Sure,” Burke said.

“I care about myself a little,” Lauren said. “As long as you’re with me, Louis can’t get me. Can’t get me in any way.”

“Any way?”

“I don’t need him,” Lauren said, “when I’m with you.”

On the radio Martin Block was signing off. Burke inhaled deeply and let the smoke out slowly, watching it rise.