End of the Tiger and Other Stories

The Trouble with Erica

September 1953, Cosmopolitan

Erica, leaning forward from the back seat, told Mack where to turn. He was aware of the fragrance of her and thought he could feel the touch of her breath against the side of his throat. “Now just two more blocks, Mack, and it will be on the right with the porch lights on.” She hesitated over calling him Mack. When the evening had started, it had been Mr. Landers and Miss Holmes, Marie, beside Mack, leaned forward and punched the lighter in. Mack felt a mild amusement. Marie had gone a little sour on the evening.

It was a narrow street, down at the heels. The house was small, and Mack guessed it probably looked less defeated at night with the lights on than during the day.

He stopped, and Marie hitched toward him and pulled the back of her seat forward so that Quent and Erica could get out. Erica turned gravely once she was out of the car and said in her husky voice, “It was nice, people. Nice to meet you, Marie, and you, Mack. I hope I’ll see you soon again.”

“No doubt of that,” Quent said with that effervescence that had been his all evening. “Be right back,” he said.

They sat with the motor running. Quent walked Erica up to her door. Mack heard Marie sniff. He tapped a cigarette on the horn ring and lit it. “Pretty girl,” he said casually.

“Oh, sure,” Marie said.

“Don’t you like her, baby?”

“She’s just fine, Mack. Just absolutely fine. I haven’t had such a gay little evening since I was a Girl Reserve.” She imitated Erica’s voice, saying, “Just a little dry sherry, please. The music is quite loud here, isn’t it?”

Mack glanced at the porch. Erica and Quent were standing under the porch light. He saw them shake hands and nearly choked. “Like going back to when I was seventeen,” he said wonderingly. “No. Sixteen. By seventeen I wouldn’t let them get away with that.”

“You were a dog, of course,” Marie said.

Quent came striding back out to the car, got in beside Marie, and pulled the door shut. Mack started up fast, the powerful motor roaring in the quiet of the darkened street.

“How do you like her?” Quent asked eagerly.

“She seems like a very nice girl,” Marie said evenly.

“Nice kid,” Mack agreed.

“She’s really got me going,” Quent said. “I’m glad we all got along so good together. I was kind of afraid.”

“Afraid we’d be too coarse and worldly for the little dear?” Marie asked, an unpleasant note in her voice.

“Now don’t be like that, Marie,” Quent said. “You know I didn’t mean anything like that.”

“Then exactly what in hell are you talking about?” Marie demanded.

“Shut your pretty face, darling,” Mack said.

“I was afraid he was going to tell me she’s a nice girl,” Marie said.

“Look, it was a good evening,” Quent said. “Let’s break it off good.”

“Okay,” Marie said. “Nightcap at my place?”

“Not tonight,” Mack said. “Tomorrow is a working day. Landers and Dale have got stuff piled up. Right, kid?”

“Right, Mack,” Quent said.

Mack drove back toward town, parked in front of the blonde stone and glass apartment house where Marie lived on ample alimony. He got out, and Marie slid out on his side, and he said, “Back in a second, kid.”

He walked into the sterile tile lobby with Marie. He grinned at her. She was a sturdy blonde with shrewd eyes, good clothes, and a sulky mouth. They were easy with each other, and he knew she had learned that if she got rough, it was always a few weeks before he called her up again.

“Now we shake hands, maybe?” Marie asked. “An evening with sweet young stuff and you can’t even come up for a drink.”

“You want him up for a drink? You want to listen to him talk about love’s young dream for an hour perhaps?”

“Please. Not that.”

“Okay, so I drop him and come back for my drink. That makes better sense?”

Her slow smile came. She ran her fingertips down his cheek. “Mmm,” she said. “Good sense.”

“Within an hour, honey,” he said, and turned and walked out. His heels made loud firm noises on the tile, and as he pushed the front door open he heard the soft closing of the door of the self-service elevator. He walked out toward the car where he could see the glow of Quent’s cigarette. He got in and slammed the door and headed through town.

“I’m conversational,” Quent said. “Nightcap?”

“A short one.” The streets were empty, and he parked in front of The Alibi. They went in and sat at the curve of the bar. Mack tilted his hat back off his broad forehead. There was a party in one of the big booths — two girls and three men, all loud and out of focus.

“The usual, Joe,” Mack said. “What about you, Quent?”

“Just a beer, I guess. Millers is okay.” The bartender moved off. Quent said, “God, she’s a hell of a girl, Mack. Never met anything like her.”

“From the way you’ve been acting, kid, I knew you had something on your mind. How did you say you met her?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t want to be laughed at. You know that Dowling case I was working on, where she wanted to leave her money to the church. I called on her and she had a lady with her, a friend. While I was there Erica came in a car to pick up the other lady, and it turns out the lady is Erica’s aunt. Erica was in the east for a couple of years and she got homesick and came back out here. She lives with her aunt now and she’s got a part-time job at the library. She works mornings, but I guess I told you that already. What do you think of her, Mack?”

Mack lifted his drink and took a long slow sip. He glanced at his partner’s intent young face. “It’s really stacked,” he said casually. “I bet it would be fine.”

Quent turned sharply and frowned at him. Quent’s cheeks were red. “Damn it, that’s no way to talk.”

“Don’t get in an uproar, kid.”

“You can’t look at any woman in a decent way, can you?”

Mack grinned. “Sure. I’m an evil old man. Ask anybody.”

Quent finally smiled, reluctantly. “All right. You were kidding me. Seriously, I’m thinking in terms of marriage, Mack. It’s time, I think.”

“I was married once,” Mack said. “It is, indeed, a very unpromising relationship.”

“You had bad luck.”

Mack thought of all the implications. He took a few sips of his drink, slid the glass a few inches along the bar top, and examined the wet streak it left.

“Do I have to like the idea?” he asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, kid. The business is growing. And you know why. We both draw peanuts and put the rest back into the firm. We’re hot. Equal partners. Look at the picture. You get married. You have to draw more. It stands to reason. You draw more, and I have to draw more, or else let the firm owe me. So what happens to the plans? We start leveling off. We don’t grow any more. The answer is we have an outfit that gives us both a nice comfortable living. But is that enough? I thought we had the idea of really getting big. Marriage in five years, Quent. Fine, I’d say. But right now... hell, you can see how I feel.”

“She’d understand that, Mack. She really would. She’s smart. You can tell that. We draw a hundred apiece right now. We could stay within that.”

“For five years? You and she and your three kids? Life doesn’t work that way. If she’s that smart, she’s going to know what we’re netting, kid. And she’s going to start resenting the way we keep ploughing it back in. She’s going to wonder why she has to take it easy during the good years so that she can have more dough later on when she won’t enjoy it so much. Kitties love the cream, kid.”

“I can’t help it, Mack. I’ve... got to marry her.”

“Name it after me.”

“Damn it, you always twist things around.”

“Take it easy, Quent. Anyway, how much do you know about this girl? I’m only eight years older than you, but by God, sometimes I feel forty years older. Marriage lasts a long time. At least it’s supposed to. Don’t rush into it. How long have you known her, anyway?”

“Six weeks, Mack.”

“Know a girl six months and marry her and it’s still fast. I always have to keep slowing you up. You know that. Remember the Berton deal? That could have been a real jam if I let you go ahead the way you wanted to.” Mack tossed off the rest of his drink and stood up. “Finish your beer, Quent. I’m bushed.”

They went back out to the car, and Mack dropped Quent off at his small apartment, headed on east as though going to his place, then circled and went back to Marie’s apartment.

He sat in his car for a time without going in. He lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly, frowning ahead through the windshield at the dark street. A city bus hissed to a stop, let a man off, waddled off down the street.

From what Quent had said about her he had expected Erica Holmes to be Miss Anemia. A bloodless and bifocaled thing with elfin mannerisms. Quent wasn’t noted for his taste in women. But Erica had been a thing to stir the blood. Every time, during the evening, when she had been close to him, the backs of Mack’s hands had tingled. She was a grave brunette, her hair so dark it looked almost blue under lights. She had tilted gray eyes, that husky voice, and a body suitable for a calendar in any repair shop. But it was more than that, he knew. It was a certain aura, an invisible emanation of desirability that could be felt ten feet away from her and increased in geometric proportion as he got closer. And she obviously had the kid mumbling to himself. He thought of one little incident during the evening. When he had danced with her, she had become rigid each time he tried to pull her closer. And once, when dancing, her fingertips had accidentally brushed the nape of his neck, and they had felt like ice. He sat, eyes narrowed, thinking. He got out, flicked his cigarette away, and walked slowly toward the lobby entrance, separating the proper key from the others.

Mack was at his desk when Quent came in, whistling. Mack saw Mrs. Ober slant a speculative glance at Quent, and he knew that Mrs. Ober was not deceived. Prior to Erica, Quent had been a young man who never came in whistling. Mack had coldly selected Quent for the fine intuitive quality of his intelligence. The younger man was not the sort of person with whom Mack felt most at ease. Mack thought of Erica for a time, and then sighed and turned back to the work on his desk.

At eleven o’clock Mack went out. As he waited for the elevator he turned and looked at the door of the reception room. Landers and Dale. It had started three years ago in one crummy office, just he and the kid and Mrs. Ober. Five rooms now, and four people working for them. Another five years and they’d have the whole floor. Ten years and they might have their own building. Crazier things had happened. The kid hadn’t been pulling full weight the past six weeks.

Mack went out and walked five blocks to the public library. He went into the main desk and asked for Miss Holmes. Erica Holmes. The girl at the main desk told him she was in the reference room, the door to the right. He walked through into the sunlit silence. A few people frowned up at him as his metal-tipped heels struck hard against the wooden floor. Mack looked at them blandly. Erica was behind a semicircular desk in the corner. She wore glasses with heavy rims. As she looked up at him, smiling without too much enthusiasm, he saw that the lenses did not distort her eyes at all. Probably a very minor correction. She wore a black skirt, a white blouse with starched cuffs and collar.

“Good morning,” she said in a low voice. “I had a lovely time last night.”

“I wanted to see you in your natural habitat, Erica.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“And maybe see how natural it is.”

She tilted her head a bit on one side. “What does that mean, Mack?”

He looked at her mouth. Wide and soft and firm, lips lying evenly together. He said, “Just making jokes. Poor ones, I guess. Did you do library work when you were back east?”

“No.”

“Just that? No.”

“Is this some sort of an inquisition, Mr. Landers? If so, I’ll have to ask you to excuse me. I’m really quite busy.”

He grinned. “I feel like a father to the kid. You know how it is.”

“Please don’t talk so loudly. You’re disturbing the whole room.”

“Buy you lunch?”

“No thank you.”

“Have I said something wrong?”

“Please, Mack. You’ll get me in trouble here.”

“Come on out by the front steps a minute then.”

“I can’t.”

“Then we’ll talk here.”

Her lips tightened. Her knuckles were white against the edge of the desk. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

He walked out onto the front steps, leaned against the front of the building, and lit a cigarette. It was a good five minutes before she came out. She looked angry.

“What is this all about, Mack?”

He looked into the gray eyes, saw them slide uneasily away. “I guess you misunderstood me, Erica. Hell, I was just being friendly. Quent told me you worked here mornings, and I had a call and I was going by, so I stopped in. That Quent, he’s a fine boy, don’t you think?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Of course I think so.”

“Guys like that are rare. You know... idealistic, dedicated. I was telling Marie last night that I lost my illusions when I was sixteen.”

“Too bad, Mack.”

“We’ll have to have an evening together, Erica.”

“Really, I don’t see...”

“Just the four of us again. What do you say?”

She half turned away from him. “That would be nice. I have to go back in now.”

“I’ll work it out with Quent, then.”

“Yes, do that.”

“Or we could go on a picnic. Hell, I haven’t been on a picnic in years.”

“I really have to go in, Mack.”

“Nice to see you, Erica.”

She gave him a tentative smile and went in quickly. He held the big door open and watched her go up the several steps to the main floor. He watched her coldly and he saw the faint awkwardness of her as she went up the steps, and he knew that she was aware of his eyes on her.

He went down the street toward the club, deciding to have a drink before lunch. A slight celebration. A one-man celebration. He was smiling a bit.

As the day ended, and Mrs. Ober was leaving, Mack went in and sat on the corner of Quent’s desk and said, “I stopped in and saw Erica today when I went by the library.”

Quent stared at him. “What for?”

“What for? To make a date with her, maybe? Use your head. No, I had the idea that it would be nice if the four of us went on a picnic. How long since you’ve been on a picnic?”

Quent relaxed. “Years. You asked her? What did she say?”

“She seemed to go for the idea. Marie is a hell of a good cook. We can work it this way. Cold fried chicken à la Marie. Potato salad maybe from Erica. You and I bring the beer. Go up into the hills while the weather is still good. You going to see her tonight?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We can try to set up a date.”

Quent grinned. “Sorry, it takes a little time to get used to the idea of you surrounded by nature.”

“Hell, I always sit on the ground once every seven or eight years, kid. Let’s try to set it up for next Sunday. Leave about ten?”

“It sounds like it’d be fun, Mack. I’ve been thinking about... what you said last night.”

Mack adjusted his hat and clapped Quent on the shoulder. “Forget it. Hell, we’ll get along. I worry too much. I’ll set it up with Marie. Next Sunday.”

Mack was on his second drink when Marie came in. He stood up and the waiter pulled the table out and Marie slid in onto the bench beside him, smiled up at the waiter and said, “Gibson, please.” She winked at Mack as she took off her gloves. “Have a big rich day, darling?”

“A truly handsome day. Honey, what do you think of picnics?”

She stared at him. “Picnics? God! Ants in the potato salad and nothing to sit on but rocks.”

“We’re going on one.”

“What did you say you were drinking? I better change my order.”

“No, actually. The same four like last night.”

“Goodie. I’ll bring my bird book. Really, Mack!”

“It’s all set. We leave Sunday at ten in the morning. Up into the hills. Hi ho. Cold chicken and potato salad and beer and scenery.”

“You mean it, don’t you? Wasn’t one evening with young love enough for you?”

“Just being with them makes me feel young again, honey.”

Her drink came, and as she sipped it she turned so that she could look at him over the rim of her glass. She set the glass down. “You, my friend, look entirely too smug. What evil thing are you cooking up?”

“Evil? On a picnic? Please!”

“I think you better tell me what you have on your mind, Mack.”

“You are an unflattering type. I just happen to want to go on a picnic.”

“I’ll wait until the third act, then. It better be a good script.”

“It’s all ad lib.”

“Do I supply the chicken?”

“You do, my love.”

The next morning Quent reported that Erica had agreed to a picnic, and he said it was funny she wasn’t more enthusiastic about it, because he knew that she really enjoyed the out of doors, and they had taken long walks, leaving the car parked near the highway a couple of times. He said that she praised her aunt’s German potato salad, and she would come with a large bowl of same.

On Thursday Mack took some time off in the afternoon and drove up into the hills. He spent considerable time exploring side roads. When he was satisfied, he made small check marks on his map and returned to the city.

In the afternoon he went into Quent’s office. “Kid, I think we better take both cars. You know how Marie is. She gets restless and wants to take off, and maybe you and Erica would want to stay longer.”

“That makes sense, Mack. You follow me or something?”

“We don’t even have to do that,” Mack said. He unfolded the map and spread it out on the desk. “I told a friend we were going on a picnic and he told me about this place. He says it’s fine. Easy to find. We can meet there, kid. Look. Eighteen out of town and turn left on thirty-one. Go nine miles on thirty-one up into the hills, and you see a barn right here with half the roof gone. Turn left on the first road right here beyond the barn. It’s a dirt road, and you go to the end and you come out right on the side of the mountain where you can see for miles. Nice and private. He was up there a couple weeks ago.”

Quent studied the map. “That’s easy enough. Sure.”

“So we can meet out there at eleven. Marie’s going to get some nice chickens.”

Mack awoke at eight Sunday morning when the alarm went off. For a few minutes he didn’t remember it was the day of the picnic. Then he smiled and stretched and got up feeling good. He hummed under his breath as he shaved, pulling the skin tight and doing a good clean job.

He opened a tin of tomato juice, put the coffee on, and then phoned Quent. Quent answered on the second ring. “Oh, it’s you, Mack. Say, it’s a nice day for it, isn’t it?”

“A swell day, kid. Up to a point.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“I just went down to go get the paper, and my left rear tire is flat and the spare is too soft to put on. I found a place that will send a guy to fix things, but he can’t get here for an hour or so. And there were a couple of things I was going to do. How about you helping me out, kid?”

“Of course, Mack.”

“I left that zipper case down at the office, that red job that keeps things cold. I was going to start early enough so I could take it out to Walker’s and load it up with cold beer. You can buy it there any time. Can do?”

“Sure.”

“That means you’ll have to go right by Marie’s place. So it’ll help the timing if you pick her up, and I’ll pick up Erica. Okay?”

“Glad to do it, Mack. Want me to phone the gals and tell them about the switch?”

“I don’t see any need of that. They both said they’d be ready at ten. You tell Marie what happened and I’ll tell your gal. And I’ll see you out there. Don’t get lost, kid.”

“You’re talking to an old eagle scout.”

“Thanks for helping out.”

At ten o’clock Mack pulled up in front of Erica’s house. He went up to the door. She opened the door and looked at him, looked out at his car, and asked, “Where’s Quent?”

He explained the change in plans. She introduced him to her aunt, a small woman with nervous mannerisms. Erica wore a tweed skirt, a pale cardigan, and moccasins. She seemed a little uncertain and said she’d better phone Quent.

“Why? It’s all arranged. Besides, he’s left already, probably.”

She kissed her aunt, and Mack carried the big yellow bowl of potato salad out to the car. It was covered with waxed paper tied on with cord. He placed it carefully on the back seat, shut the door on Erica, then went around and got behind the wheel. She seemed subdued.

“Great day for a picnic,” he said.

“It certainly is. It might be a little cooler when we get higher.”

“Not enough to matter.”

She sat far over on her side of the seat. He drove through traffic as fast as he dared, watching carefully ahead for Quent’s car. He decided that if he saw Quent ahead he would slow down and turn into a gas station. After he got on thirty-one, he was certain that he was ahead of Quent. The big car rocked and leaned on the mountain curves.

They had nothing to say to each other. When he saw the barn ahead, he glanced into his rearview mirror. The road behind him was clear. He passed the dirt road just beyond the barn. Erica turned suddenly and looked back. “Isn’t that the road? Quent told me.”

“You misunderstood, honey. It’s the second road after the barn. Right up here.”

“But I’m sure Quent thinks...”

“If he doesn’t show up, we’ll go back and take a look.”

The road ended at a small clearing he had seen before. He parked the car and turned off the motor. The cooling engine made ticking sounds. The wind made a soft sound in the leaves.

“Let’s take a look around,” he said.

“I’ll wait here in the car.”

He opened the door on her side. “Come on. Let’s find a good place. Let’s be girl scouts, lady.” He grinned at her.

She got out of the car, and he said, “That looks like a promising path.” He stood aside, and she went ahead, holding the branches so they wouldn’t slap him in the face. The path was resilient with pine needles. After a hundred yards it opened into a small clearing. There was grass, a large log.

“This looks okay,” he said.

“Let’s go back.”

He sat down on the log and took out his cigarettes. “Here. Sit down and smoke and take it easy.”

She took a cigarette. She didn’t seem to want to look at him. “Sit down, Erica. You make me nervous.”

She sat on the log a good four feet away from him. She sat with her hand braced against the rough bark. He watched her and saw the quick lift of her breathing. He saw her moisten her lips nervously.

He reached over almost casually and folded his fingers strongly around her wrist. She stopped breathing for a moment and then turned sharply toward him. “Mack! What’s the idea?”

He chuckled and moved closer to her. She stood up. He gave a quick yank to her wrist, and she was pulled toward him, falling to her knees. He put his arms around her, and she was like a woman made of stone, unbreathing. And then he felt the sudden softness, the great shuddering breath she took. He kissed her and then looked calmly at her face, looked at the glazed scimitar eyes, at the broken mouth. He laughed somewhere deep in his throat and took her in his arms again.

Afterward, he stood up and lit another cigarette. His hands trembled a bit. He looked down at her face, at the blue-dark hair spread wild against the grass of the clearing. Her eyes were tight shut. She was breathing deeply, and with each exhalation she murmured, “Darling... darling... darling.” It was a meaningless metronome sound, as soft as the wind in the leaves overhead.

He sat on the log, watching her with a curious cold tenderness. After a time she opened her eyes and looked vaguely around, like a person coming out of deep sleep. She sat up, then knelt and brushed at the twigs and bits of grass that clung to her skirt. She stood up and looked at him without expression, then stepped over and sat beside him on the log, not close to him. She picked up her leather purse, took out a comb, and combed her dark hair carefully, looking straight ahead.

“Cigarette?” he asked when she had finished.

“Please.”

He lit her cigarette and she looked at him over the lighter flame, meeting his eyes for the first time. She turned away, her shoulders hunched.

“So it was a dirty trick,” he said. “Go ahead. Rave.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she said. Her voice had a faraway sound.

“You must have something to say.”

“I just feel... damn empty. It was probably a mistake. The whole plan. I thought... coming back here. I thought it would change things. God knows I tried hard. Back there too many people... know. When they know, there’s no defense.” She turned and looked at him again. “How did you know?”

He studied his cigarette. The breeze whipped the smoke away. “I don’t know. An instinct. Little things. Signs and portents. You get a hunch and you follow your hunch. That deal of you shaking hands with him to say good night. That was a sort of a tipoff.”

“It had to be that way.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, God, if there was some way... something that could be cut or burned out of me. Mack, why didn’t you leave me alone, even if you guessed?”

“I told you in the library. I feel almost like a father to the kid.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt him! I wouldn’t have hurt him!”

“Not this year, maybe. Then what goes on, honey? Some smart guy selling vacuum cleaners? A meter reader? Some drunk at a party? Don’t kid yourself.”

“Stop,” she said faintly. “Please stop!” She held her hands over her eyes. The discarded cigarette was near her moccasin, smoke drifting in the grass.

“Now you tell me you love the kid.”

“I do!”

“That’s good. Then you know what to do.”

She lifted her head. “Or?”

“That’s an unnecessary question, isn’t it?”

She stood up. Her face was all at once slack, gray, older. “You did go right by where we should have turned, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“You’ve been so damn clever, Mack, haven’t you?”

He stood up. “Sure. Old Mack. A big I.Q., darling. Let’s go.”

Mack watched Quent carefully during the next few weeks. The days were growing shorter and cooler. Mack watched the slow inexorable change in his partner, watched the listnessness, the climate of the rejected. One evening, knowing that Quent had gone back to the office after dinner, Mack returned also, occupying himself with work that could have waited until the next day, knowing that there was no need, actually, to talk to Quent, yet feeling a strong compulsion.

He wandered at last into Quent’s office. Quent looked up, and Mack saw the lean pallor of his face, the obscure sickness in his eyes.

“Knock off and have a quickie?” Mack said.

Quent stretched and yawned. “I guess so. Sure.”

They walked side by side through the darkness to the brittle cheer of the Alibi and sat at stools at the quiet bar. When the drinks came, Mack waited and then asked quietly, “What’s the pitch on those wedding bells, Quent?”

Quent’s smile was not a good thing to see. “You tell me, maybe. Erica’s going back east next week. She doesn’t seem to like it out here.”

“You kids have a little scrap?” Mack asked.

“I wish we had, Mack. I wish like hell that we had. Then I could figure it out. She just... cooled off toward me. Ever since that picnic it hasn’t been the same. As if she took a good second look at me and decided I wasn’t the guy after all. What the hell is wrong with me, Mack? What is it?” There was a certain taut desperation in his tone.

“Don’t think that way, kid. That’s no way to think.”

“What other way is there? Tell me that.”

Mack knew there were no words. Nothing, after all, to say. “Quent, it’s one of those things. Roll with the punch, kid. Couple of months and you won’t remember what she looked like.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s a big wide wonderful world, kid. And a good cigar is a smoke.”

“You’re a good guy, Mack, and I know what you’re trying to do and all that, but it isn’t doing any good and it isn’t going to do any good, so let’s just drop it, shall we? Let’s just drop the whole thing. I don’t want to do any talking about it.”

“Sure, kid. Sure.”

Mack tried to talk shop, but it was flat. The air was stale. The drink didn’t taste right. Quent was trying to respond, but his eyes were dead. Mack kept wishing there was some way to explain. They finished the drinks. Mack paid, and they went out onto the dark street.

“Want a ride, kid?” Mack asked.

“Thanks. I think I’ll walk it.”

Mack’s car was in the opposite direction. He stood and lit a cigarette and watched Quent until he had turned the corner and the sidewalk was empty. He wondered why thinking of Erica should make him feel older, feel a little worn around the edges. Hell, a blind man could have sensed it. That was the trouble with Erica. The kid was well out of that deal. He’d get over it. It was something you had to keep telling yourself. The night wind cut through his topcoat, and he shivered. Marie expected him. As he walked slowly toward his car he decided that this was a night for going home. A little warm milk. Call Marie in the morning from the office. This was a night for going home and going to bed and hoping sleep would come quick before your mind started roaming around that squirrel cage.