Melancholy Baby

21

I had Rosie on her leash. I had my shoulder bag with my cell phone in it, and my makeup, and my gun. I was wearing a black satin trench coat with a notched leather collar. I had on my black Oakley wraparounds. I was ready, and I was looking really good.

“You have any problem, what will you do?”

“I’ll call nine-one-one,” she said, “and the cell-phone number for your friend Spike.”

“Call Spike first,” I said. “He’ll arrive quicker.”

“Okay.”

“Where’s the number?” I said.

“On the little chalkboard by the phone. You’re sure he’ll come?”

“I’ve talked to him,” I said. “He’ll come.”

“How will I know it’s him?”

“Big, with a beard. Looks sort of like a bear.”

“A bear?”

“Yes. When he rings the intercom, he’ll give you his name.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll be fine,” I said.

She was drinking more coffee and smoking more cigarettes and looking very small, sitting alone at my breakfast table, looking cautiously out the window.

“You will,” I said. “No one knows you’re here. The building is secure. My door is secure. Lock the deadbolt when I leave.”

“Could the dog stay?” Sarah said.

“She’d rather go with me,” I said. “She likes to ride in the car.”

“You don’t trust me with her?”

Actually, I didn’t. But I saw no reason to say so.

“I bring her with me because she likes to go.”

Sarah looked a little puzzled at that concept, but she didn’t say anything.

“Okay. Obviously, don’t go out. There’s stuff for sandwiches and things in the refrigerator.”

Sarah nodded. Rosie was staring at the door as if hoping it would melt.

“I’m going out and work on your problem,” I said. “You have my cell-phone number.”

Sarah nodded again. Rosie gave a sharp, nasty yap.

“Okay,” I said. “We’re going.”

Sarah said, “I can call you.”

“Call me whenever you need to,” I said.

“Even if I don’t really have anything to say?”

“Even,” I said.