We were in my office. It was overcast outside, and raining tentatively with the promise of more vigor as the day wore on. Hawk was making coffee. I was gazing alertly out the window, assessing the rainwear of the women on the street.
“You know what I can’t figure out,” I said.
“Almost everything?” Hawk said.
“There’s that,” I said. “But more specifically, I can’t figure out why women can look sexy in few clothes, and equally so in ankle-length yellow slickers.”
“Maybe got to do with the woman more than it got to do with the outfit,” Hawk said.
“That’s a possibility,” I said.
“Or maybe it got to do with the observer,” Hawk said.
“You are a deep bastard,” I said.
“I am,” Hawk said. “And I’m glad you focused on the big issues.”
“Like why Heidi and Harden were pretending to be estranged?”
“No, I know we can’t figure that out,” Hawk said. “I was wondering why Bradshaw was boppin’ Miss Maggie.”
“Because he could?” I said.
“You and me could,” Hawk said.
“But you and me wouldn’t,” I said.
“So the question remains,” Hawk said.
“Supply and demand?” I said.
“Supply no issue in my life,” Hawk said.
“Nor mine,” I said.
“Not much variety,” Hawk said. “But very high quality.”
“So what else could it be,” I said.
“Taste,” Hawk said.
My phone rang and I answered.
“Do you know who this is?” the caller said.
Even his voice sounded gray.
“I do,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”
“This is the cell phone equivalent,” Rugar said, “of a white flag. I am perhaps five minutes from your office. I have a young woman with me. I want no trouble.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to come to your office with the young woman and talk with you.”
“Hawk is here,” I said.
“I assumed he would be.”
“Come ahead,” I said.
“No one else,” Rugar said.
“Nobody but me and Hawk,” I said.
“Your word,” Rugar said.
“My word,” I said.
“Five minutes,” Rugar said.
I hung up. Hawk looked at me.
“Rugar,” I said, “five minutes. Under a flag of truce. He has a young woman with him.”
Hawk nodded.
“Curiouser,” Hawk said, “and fucking curiouser.”