The investigators

SIXTEEN

After a long time in the bathroom-much of it looking at her reflection in the mirror, as if there was going to be some kind of answer there-Susan finally came out, wrapped in a hotel-furnished terry-cloth robe.

Matt was propped up against the headboard of the bed, naked except for a corner of the sheet over his groin, the telephone to his ear.

Matt said "Thank you" into the telephone and hung it up and looked at her.

"Who were you talking to?" Susan asked.

"Room service. You were in there so long, I got hungry. I told them to send up oysters and a bottle of champagne. "

Been watching a lot of Cary Grant movies, have you, Matt? A little elegant counterpoint to hot and heavy sex?

"Oysters and champagne?"

"Yeah. It seemed appropriate under the circumstances. "

"I don't like oysters," Susan said.

He reached for the telephone and dialed. The sheet over his groin was dislodged.

He either didn't notice or doesn't care.

"This is Mr. Payne," he said. "If it's not too late, make that one dozen oysters."

He hung up and moved back to his propped-up-against-the — headboard position and looked at her. He did not pull the sheet over his nakedness.

Why does that annoy me so much? What is he doing, exposing himself like that? Saying, "Now that I know what a hot-blooded bitch-what a good fuck-you are, why worry about decency?"

"You apparently have a lot of experience in circumstances like this," Susan heard herself say.

"Actually," he said wryly, "I have absolutely no previous experience in a circumstance even remotely like this one."

"Would you mind covering yourself?" she heard herself ask in the voice of a bitch.

"Sorry," he said, and grabbed for the sheet.

"I can't believe I did this," she said.

Matt shrugged. The shrug-his whole attitude-infuriated her.

He made it worse by asking, "You ever hear the expression 'These things happen'? Or, 'Sex is what makes the world go around'?"

"Goddamn you!" Susan said.

He looked at her without expression.

"What if I'm pregnant?" she heard herself blurting.

That surprised him.

"You're not on the pill?"

She felt herself blushing as she shook her head, "no."

"Why not?"

"I don't need it."

"That was an admission, in case you weren't aware of it, that there is no good ol' Whatsisname, the boyfriend your parents can't stand."

"Yes, there is-"

"Stop the bullshit, Susan," he interrupted her rather unpleasantly. "We don't have time for it. It'll only make things worse than they are. If that's possible."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she challenged.

He patted the bed beside him.

He's ordering me to shut up and get back in bed! Goddamn him!

"What makes you think we're going to do that again? Ever?"

"I told you we don't have time for bullshit. Sit down," he said, and then went on, "I said 'sit,' not 'lay.' "

Not knowing why she decided to give in, Susan went to the bed and sat on the edge. Matt took her hand in his.

For a moment, thinking he was going to put her hand on him under the sheet, she debated jerking her hand free. But she sensed, somehow, that having her fondle him was not-at least for the moment-on his mind.

"You were a little surprised about this, right?" Matt asked seriously. "What's happened to us?"

"That's the understatement of the century," she said.

"Well, me, too, fair maiden. This is the last thing I expected to happen, or wanted to happen."

"That's not the impression you gave me."

"The cops are onto you, fair maiden."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged again, and again it infuriated her.

"Truth time," Matt said, "For example, to clear the air: When you were not in your room in the Bellvue with the nonexistent boyfriend, you were off meeting a guy named Bryan Chenowith and/or one or more of his fellow fugitives."

"Oh, my God!"

"Yeah," Matt said. "In other words, the jig is up. You are what is known in the criminal statutes, state and Federal, as an accessory after the fact. And actually, I want to be sure about the after the fact."

"You son of a bitch! You went to my house! You had dinner with my parents. And all the time-"

"You left out 'made love to me.' Guilty on all counts. And I'm going to take great pleasure in seeing your pal and his friends hauled off to the slammer without possibility of parole for the rest of their natural lives. My problem is what to do about you."

She looked at him with horror in her eyes, but didn't speak.

"I don't want you to go to the slam, fair maiden. That would distress me terribly."

"Why should that bother you, Mr. Detective?" Susan flared, and started to get off the bed. She wondered if she was going to throw up.

He held her wrist, and he was too strong for her.

"I'm not through," he said, not very pleasantly.

"What are you going to do now? Rape me before you arrest me?"

"Come on, Susan, you know better than that. Get it through your head that right now I'm the best friend you've got."

"How often have you used that line? What do they call that, putting the suspect at ease?"

"That's what they call it," Matt agreed. "The difference is, this is the first time I've used the technique on an interviewee I think I'm in love with."

Her heart jumped when he said that.

"In love?" she asked, witheringly sarcastic. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"

"Well, maybe what happened affected me more than it affected you, but that's how I'm forced to look at it."

"Oh, come on, Matt!"

"If I didn't come to realize, when you were in the bathroom all that time, that what's wrong with me is that I'm in love with you, then what would have happened was that we would have torn off another couple of pieces, had our dinner, and I would have taken you home and been not at all upset about the inevitability of you going off to the slam."

"My God, you're serious!"

"Were you listening when I said we don't have time for bullshit?"

There was a knock at the door.

"Who's that?" Susan asked, as if frightened.

"Probably the waiter. When I checked in, I told them to cool a couple of bottles." He raised his voice. "Just a moment, please, I'm in the shower."

He let go of her wrist and got out of bed.

"Is there another one of those in there?" he asked, making reference to the hotel's terry-cloth robe and gesturing toward the bathroom.

"I only saw this one," Susan said.

"Then you better give me that one," Matt said. "And wait in the bathroom. Or get under the blankets."

She looked at him doubtfully, then looked around for her discarded clothing.

"Where're my clothes?"

"I kicked them under the bed," he said matter-of-factly, then smiled and went on. "Come on, give me the robe. The cow already got out of the barn. I know what you've got hidden under there."

She turned her back on him, unfastened the robe, and, aware that she was blushing again, shrugged out of it and ran to the bathroom.

"What do you want to eat?"

"What do I want to eat?" she parroted incredulously. "Eat?"

"They do a nice standing rib," he said. "Okay?"

"I just don't give a damn," she confessed, and closed the bathroom door.

Feeling dizzy and a little faint, but no longer nauseous, Susan leaned against the closed bathroom door. This gave her a view of herself in the mirrors over the sink.

For a moment, she seriously considered that she might be having a bad dream. That was obviously not the case.

But I can't believe any of this is happening! Either what happened in the car, or that I came to the room, or what happened here. Anything that happened here, from letting him undress me through what happened after he did, to that clever little unbelievable line, "The cops are onto you, fair maiden."

She was vaguely conscious of hearing him order dinner-New England-style clam chowder, not the kind with tomatoes, medium-rare beef, baked potatoes, asparagus, and a large pot of coffee-and couldn't believe that, either.

How the hell can he even think of food at a time like this?

And then he was trying to push the bathroom door open against the weight of her body.

"Hey, you all right, Susan?" he asked, and there was concern in his voice.

"What do you want?"

"I thought you might want the robe back."

"Just a minute," she said, and pushed herself off the door and went after a towel.

Before she reached it, he had pushed the door open. Susan tried to cover herself modestly with her hands.

"Ta-ta!" Matt cried. "The Mad Flasher strikes again!"

Using both hands, he pulled the bathrobe open wide.

Under it, his private parts were now concealed by his shorts.

"You're insane," she said, but she smiled and reached for the robe as he shrugged out of it.

"Your maidenly modesty is really a waste of effort, you know. I have seen what I have seen, and it is burned indelibly for all eternity on my brain."

"You really are insane, aren't you?" Susan said.

Why am I pleased that he liked what he saw? And for that matter, why am I not really all that embarrassed about him seeing me naked?

Matt went back into the bedroom, and as she fastened the robe around her, she saw him going into the sitting room. She combed her hair as best she could, then went into the bedroom.

Where she found that he had indeed kicked her clothing under the bed. The first thing she retrieved was her brassiere.

And saw he had torn it off: the buttonhole on the strap between the cups was ripped open.

She found her underpants and pulled them on under the terry-cloth robe and went into the sitting room.

He was pouring champagne. He picked up both glasses and held one out to her.

"I'm not sure I want this," she said.

"What shall we drink to?" he asked, ignoring her.

"What is there to celebrate?"

"Us, maybe? Or am I really alone in thinking that something really special happened to both of us in the last twenty-four hours?"

"Matt, I'm afraid to believe you about… what you said," she said.

"I told you I think I love you after I told you that bullshit time is over," he said. "You can believe that."

"I don't know what happened to me," Susan said.

"The question is was it special for you? Half as special, maybe, as it was for me?"

"What do you think?" she asked softly.

"I don't know what to think. That's why I asked."

"The last time somebody put his hands in my pants in a car was when I was in high school. I hit him with a flashlight and knocked out two of his teeth."

"Is that a yes?"

"I came up here with you, didn't I? And you know what happened."

"In that case, we have just taken step one," Matt said. "Which I think we should commemorate with a swallow of the bubbly, and, if you're so inclined, with a friendly kiss."

"A friendly kiss?"

"Boy Scout's honor," he said, and stepped close to her.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then kissed him, very chastely, on the lips.

That was and that wasn't. It was closed-mouthed and gentle, but I felt it all the way down to my crotch.

If he kisses me again, or puts his hand inside the bathrobe, we'll be back in the sack again.

Matt touched his glass to hers.

"Well, at least we have our priorities right. First the kiss, and then the champagne."

"And now what?" Susan asked.

"We wait for dinner to be delivered," he said. "And meanwhile, we try to start to find some kind of a solution to our dilemma."

"And how do we do that?"

"You start by trusting me," he said, looking into her eyes. "You really don't have any choice, but I want you to really understand that."

She averted her eyes by lowering them.

"Are you constantly in that state?" she blurted.

"I just kissed you," he said. "And it happened." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Ah-ten-hut! And then, feeling noble as hell, I resisted the enormous urge to pick you up and carry you back to bed."

"That wouldn't be smart, would it?" Susan asked, raising her eyes from his erection to his eyes.

"Not right now, but you could easily talk me out of that position."

"Maybe that's all it is," she said. "Unbridled lust. On both sides."

"Maybe," he said very seriously. "I think there's more, but if that's all there is, that's enough."

"I don't really know what you mean by trust you," she said.

"Well, that means I'm going to ask you questions, and you're going to answer them. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. You're not going to hold anything back. You've just changed sides, Susan. Chenowith and his friends are now the bad guys."

"I'm not sure I can do that," she said very softly.

"You don't have any choice, honey. What I'm trying to do is find some way to keep you from going down the toilet with them."

"What did you call me?"

"What?"

"You called me 'honey.' "

"I guess I did," Matt said. "Does that bother you?"

"No," she said after a just-perceptible hesitation. "No, Matt, it doesn't."

"I would be amenable to reciprocation," he said.

"Does 'precious beloved' come easily to your lips?"

"No," she said, smiling. " 'Precious beloved'? My God!"

"There are many other possibilities," he said. "Think it over. Whatever makes you happy."

"All I can think of is 'honey,' " she said. "And that's awkward."

"Give it a shot."

"Honey," she said.

"Sounds great to me," he said. "Let's go with that for a while, until you think of something better."

She sensed that he was about to kiss her again, and turned her back to him.

"Matt, I can't betray them," she said.

"What happened to 'honey'?" he asked lightly, and then, his voice changing, added: "Get it through your head, honey, that they're going to jail. If they're lucky, the feds will let Pennsylvania try them. We don't often send people to the chair."

" 'We' don't?"

"We, the citizens of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, " he said, rather unpleasantly. "Okay, first question. Did you have any prior knowledge that Chenowith was going to blow up the Biological Sciences building at the University of Pennsylvania?"

Susan shook her head and said, softly, "No."

"No knowledge of any kind? He-and when I say 'he,' read Chenowith, the scumbag with the acne, and either of the women. Or any friends we don't know about-never discussed this with you, even in idle conversation, with a couple of drinks in him? 'What we should do is blow up the building'?"

"I told you no, Matt," she said, then added, "God, you sound like a policeman."

"I am a policeman," he said. "I have to be absolutely sure of this, honey. Let me ask it in another way. When they blew up the Biological Sciences building, were you surprised, or did you sort of expect something like that to happen?"

"Matt, would you believe me if I said I'm sick about the Biological Sciences building? I was sick then, and I'm sick now."

He looked at her carefully, and she realized he was making up his mind whether or not to believe her. And then she saw in his eyes that he did.

"That wasn't the question, honey. The question was, did the bombing of the Biological Sciences building come to you as a surprise, or not?"

"I really didn't even know Bryan Chenowith when that happened," she said.

"Then how the hell did you get involved with these people? Has he got something on you?"

"Now he does," she said.

"What?"

"I know what he did, and that the police are looking for him. Isn't that what you said-I'm an accessory after the fact, for helping him?"

"What's he got on you?"

"That I've been helping him."

"Why have you been helping him?" Matt asked impatiently.

"Room service!" a cheery voice announced, and there was a knock on the door.

"Just a minute," Matt called.

He gestured for her to give him the robe again. When she did, he saw that she was wearing underpants.

"What did I do? Shame you back into maidenly modesty? " he asked.

"Don't you ever shut your mouth?" she snapped.

"Go hide in the bathroom like a good girl," he said, stuffing his arms into the sleeves of the robe.

She went into the bathroom and closed the door, and listened while he dealt with the waiter, and to the sound of furniture moving, and metallic clanks she presumed were the plate and dish covers that come with room-service meals. But when the noise died down, he didn't come to the bathroom door. She wondered if the waiter was still there, or if there was some other reason.

Curiosity finally got the best of her. She opened the bathroom door carefully and walked quickly to the door to the sitting room.

Matt was sitting at the table, wearing the terry-cloth robe, putting an oyster on a cracker.

"Pity you don't like oysters. These are first-rate," he said.

"I've been waiting for my robe," she said indignantly, walking across the room to him, concealing as much of her breasts as she could with her arms.

"Our robe," Matt corrected her. "And you were standing behind the door, right, so that you could put your hand-only-through the door and snatch it from my hand so that I wouldn't get to see anything?"

"Give me the damned robe," she said, tugging at the neck of it.

He got out of the chair, shrugged out of the robe, and held it out so that she could put her arms in the sleeves.

"I cannot tell a lie," he said. "I'm glad I did that. You wearing nothing but your underpants and a look of high indignation is truly a sight to see."

"What are you?" she said, furious with herself for blushing. "Some kind of a pervert?"

"No. I don't think so. I'm in love. Or maybe lust. Or both. I think 'all's fair in lust and war' is also true."

She shook her head and then, robe modestly belted, looked at him.

"That can't possibly be true," she said.

"What can't?"

"Love."

"Why not? You hear about it all the time. Love at first sight, and they lived happily thereafter."

"That's the… bullshit… you keep talking about. Things like that just don't happen."

"Well, I think it happened to me. With my luck, it probably won't be reciprocal, but I'm willing to settle for half a loaf."

She looked at him with a strange look on her face.

"I'll be damned if I don't think you're serious."

"I have never been more serious in my life," Matt said.

Susan suddenly had a very strong urge to cry.

"Can I have one of your oysters?" she asked, her voice sounding strange.

"I thought you didn't like oysters?"

"I was being a bitch. You bring that out in me."

He turned to the table and picked up an oyster in its shell and handed it to her.

She ate it from the shell.

"Very good," she said.

"I told you. Shall I get you a dozen? I ate most of-"

"There won't be time," she said.

"Why not?"

"This one's already working," she said.

"Meaning what?" he said, and then took her meaning. "Oh, really?"

She raised her eyes to his and nodded solemnly. He unfastened the belt on the robe and she shrugged out of it.

"You want to go out there?" Matt asked. "Or should I try to roll that cart in here?"

"You weren't thinking of food two minutes ago."

"That was two minutes ago."

"Since we have only one bathrobe between us, I don't think I want to go out there. I've had enough new experiences for one night. Eating dinner in the nude will have to wait for another time."

"In other words, roll in the tray?"

"I'm not all that hungry. Why don't you just bring in one plate, and we'll share it?"

"Okay. I'll get a plate. I'm delighted you didn't think of the other option: getting out of bed and getting dressed."

"I wish that I could spend the rest of my life in this bed," she said.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

He got out of bed and went into the sitting room. And returned pushing the cart. Susan raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"I wanted to bring the champagne, too," he said. "And there's two oysters left. I didn't want them to be wasted."

She felt herself blush again.

"We can't spend the rest of our life in this bed," she said.

"Not this one. Maybe in another one," he said.

He handed her a napkin, silverware, and a plate of roast beef. Then he poured champagne in a glass and got in bed with her, sitting cross-legged across from her.

"While you're cutting me a piece of that," he said, "and while I'm chewing it, tell me how in the hell you got involved with these people."

Susan exhaled audibly, looked at Matt, then dropped her eyes to the slab of pink roast beef on the plate between her legs and started cutting it.

"Jennie-" she began.

"Jennifer Downs Ollwood," Matt interrupted. "Five feet four inches, 130 pounds, brown eyes, black hair worn in bangs, got herself kicked out of Bennington for taking free speech a step too far by assaulting a campus police officer, then transferred to the University of Pittsburgh. What about her?"

"You seem to know everything about her."

"Come on, honey. I'm just trying to save time. We still have to take you home to Mommy and Daddy sometime tonight."

"Until you said that," Susan said, "I completely forgot about having to go home. What time is it?"

He looked at his watch.

"Half past ten."

"It seems like much later," she said.

"Well, didn't you notice? A lot's happened tonight."

"We're going to have to go soon."

"Not until we're finished," he said, and then smiled. "I already have a reputation for keeping the Reynolds family virgin out all night. Mommy would probably be surprised, even disappointed, if I brought you home early."

"I guess that means I don't get arrested tonight, if you're going to take me home," Susan said, making what she instantly realized was a bad little joke.

"Not by me. Not ever by me," Matt said seriously. "But I can't speak for the rest of the law-enforcement community."

"Matt, I'm scared."

"Well, you should be. What about the Ollwood woman? Did she meet Chenowith at the University of Pittsburgh? Or were they already planning armed revolution and rebellion at Bennington?"

"I don't know where she met him," Susan said. "But you have to understand about Jennie, Matt."

"What do I have to understand?"

"She is no more capable of blowing up a building than I am."

"The fact is that she did. There's no question about that, honey."

"You have to understand her."

"Understand what, Susan?"

"Her family is a disaster," Susan said. "Her mother's a drunk, on her fourth husband. Her father doesn't give a damn about her. She's all alone, Matt, and always has been. Until, of course, Bryan came along. Whatever she did was because of Bryan."

"That's bullshit, honey," Matt said gently. "She might have been strongly attracted to this character, that's understandable. But once she found out that he was seriously considering doing something like blowing up a building-there's a hell of a difference between hitting a campus cop with your 'Fair Play For Animals!' sign and robbing a National Guard armory to get explosives and weapons-"

"You know about that?" Susan interrupted.

"We even know the serial numbers of the carbines they stole. And that your friend Chenowith-"

"He's not my friend, Matt!"

"— has chopped down one of them into a movie-style terrorist's machine pistol to use when he robs banks."

"Well, that answered another question I had. You know about the banks."

"Yeah, we know about the banks. And it's only a question of time before Robin Hood decides he has to use that machine pistol, and other innocent people get killed."

She met his eyes and then looked away.

"You want to hear about Jennie?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," Matt said. "I do. I left off saying that she had a choice to make when she understood that he was about to do some very terrible things, and she made the wrong one. I can't work up much sympathy for your friend, honey, drunken mother on her fourth husband or not."

"You said, in the car, that you were… 'sucked into' your relationship with Penny Detweiler. That she was really fucked up, and really needed you."

"I wondered why you picked up on that," Matt said. "That's how it is with you and the Ollwood woman?"

Susan nodded.

"After-what happened at the Univer-"

"Let's knock off the euphemisms," Matt said. "What happened was that your friend actively assisted Chenowith in the placement and detonation of an explosive device in a building on a college campus, and caused the deaths of eleven innocent people."

"All right," Susan said, her voice choked. Tears formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

"Say it, honey," Matt said gently but insistently.

She sighed.

"After Bryan… blew up the building, and the police started looking for him, Jennie called me. She was hysterical. Desperate. I felt so sorry for her. And she said she absolutely had to have some money…"

"And you gave it to her," Matt finished. "And as you were aware she was involved in blowing up the science building, that made you an accessory after the fact."

"I didn't think about that," Susan said, and looked at him through tear-filled eyes. "My friend was all fucked up, Matt. She had nobody else to turn to. I had to help."

"Where did you get the money?" he asked, ignoring her.

"It was mine," she said.

"Where did you get it? Specifically, did you take it out of the bank? Is there a record of you making a substantial "-Of course there isn't. If there was, the FBI would have known about it, and told me-"withdrawal-"

"No," Susan said. "I had it. I had a quarterly dividend check from Chrysler that day, and I had just cashed it-I was going shopping-and I gave her the money."

"No, you didn't," Matt said.

"What?"

"You will swear on a stack of Bibles that you didn't give her any money. I don't think the FBI knows about that, and we don't want them to know. You cashed the check to go shopping, didn't buy anything, and just kept the money around and pissed it away on routine expenses. How much was it?"

"Three thousand and change," Susan said, very softly. "Matt, I'm not a very good liar."

"Well, you fooled me, honey. You told me you were just not interested, and I believed you."

"Oh, Matt!"

"I'm serious. You're a good liar, which is a good thing."

"Matt, there is something about money…"

"What?"

"I'm holding some money for Bryan."

"From the bank jobs?"

She nodded.

"Jesus Christ, why?"

"Because he asked me to. Or he got Jennie to ask me to. Same thing."

"Did he tell you why?"

"Against the possibility of his being arrested-"

"The inevitability," Matt interrupted.

"— to hire a good lawyer."

"Shit," Matt said. "He's stupid. For one thing-let me explain how this will work-for one thing, the FBI knows all about the bank robberies. He did another one a couple of days ago, in Clinton, New Jersey. Dressed up like a woman, by the way."

"Jennie called me-my God, that's only this morning-and asked me to come visit her and the baby."

"What baby?"

The FBI doesn't know anything about a baby. An infant in arms considerably cuts into the number of wanted females meeting a physical description. I would have been told. It would even have been in their movie.

"They have a baby boy."

"Jesus H. Christ! Wouldn't you consider that a little irresponsible, considering their circumstances?"

"Maybe it happened to them the way it could have happened to us just now," Susan said.

"Stop finding excuses for her, Susan," Matt said. "If you're facing life in prison, you don't get pregnant."

"Okay," she said. "I told you, she's all fucked up."

"Okay. Where were we? I was telling how this will go down. You're on the FBI's list. The moment they arrest Chenowith, they'll have you picked up as an accessory after the fact. The same day, probably, if they don't have one already, they'll get a search warrant for your house, your office, the place in the Poconos… Where is the money?"

"In my safe-deposit box," she said. "In the Harrisburg Bank and Trust Company."

"And for that," Matt said. "They will find the money, and since you have no other explanation for it, and there is evidence that you have been meeting with Chenowith, it will (a) be seized as recovered loot from bank robberies, and (b) used as evidence that you are an active accessory after the fact."

"Oh, God!"

"For both, probably," he went on as he thought about it. "I think they'll probably try to make you an accessory to the bank robberies, too."

"Why bother, if they are going to send me to prison for life for helping Jennie?"

"You, and Poor Little Jennie, and Bryan Chenowith, and the guy with the acne-Edgar Leonard Cole-and the other female. What's her name? Eloise Anne Fitzgerald," he said. "Where are they, by the way?"

"I don't know, Matt."

"You don't know, or you're overwhelmed with compassion because they had unpleasant childhoods?"

"I don't know, Matt," she said, half crying, looking at him. "I don't know if I'd tell you if I did, but I don't know."

Then she started to cry.

"Jesus, please don't do that," Matt said.

Once she started, she couldn't stop. It was soft, almost a moan, as she hugged her breasts and her chest heaved with sobs.

Matt moved to her, spilling the plate of roast beef, and put his arms around her.

"Come on, honey," he said. "That's not going to do any good."

"I wish I was dead," she spluttered.

"What is that, a commentary on our lovemaking?"

"You bastard!"

"Two things have happened," he said.

"What two things?" she said, sobbing.

"I have asparagus in my pubic hair, au jus on my balls, and holding you like this is making me horny."

She pushed herself away from him and looked.

It was all true.

Half crying, half giggling, she shook her head.

"Go take a bath," she said.

"You got some of it, too," he said, pointing. "Come with me."

"Take a shower with you?"

"Why not? Or would you rather sit here in the roast beef and blubber?"

She put her hand out and touched his cheek.

"My God, I think I do love you," she said.

"You wash my back, and I'll let you have the asparagus, " Matt said, and took her hand and pulled her out of the bed.

"We have to get that money out of your safe-deposit box," Matt said as he was toweling himself in the bathroom and shamelessly watching Susan do the same.

"What did you say?" Susan asked, her voice muffled by the towel she had over her head.

He didn't repeat the statement; he had thought of something else.

"Just before we came in here, you said Poor Pathetic Jennie called you. What did she want?"

She took the towel off her head and looked at him.

"Do you have to call her that?"

He shrugged but didn't reply directly.

"What did she want?"

"She said she had another package she wanted me to keep for her-"

"From the Farmers and Merchants Bank of Clinton, New Jersey, no doubt," Matt interrupted. "And when did you tell her you were going to meet her?"

"I told her I wouldn't," Susan said. "I told the both of them that. She put him on the phone."

"Why not?"

"I thought, so soon after I was in Philadelphia, that it would be suspicious. And I told them I had a cop on my back."

"Jesus! But you said you didn't-"

"At the time, I believed you," Susan said. "At the time, I thought you were what your friends told me you were."

"Which friends? What did they tell you I was?"

"Your two old school pals at Daffy's party. They told me you were a mixed-up screwball playing at being a cop. To prove your manhood. You're not, are you? You're really a cop, and what you're playing at is being a screwball. It's a good act. It had me fooled."

"And now that my facade has been torn away, what do you think?"

"I'm afraid about how much I like what I see," she said. "I'm afraid that it's going to be taken away from me."

"You want to go back in the shower?" Matt asked.

"No. God, I can't believe we did that. I didn't think it was possible."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to spread this around, but that was a first for me, too."

"Really?"

"Of course, I never had a woman look for asparagus bits in my-"

"Stop!"

"Yeah. We have to stop," he said seriously. "But let's finish Poor

… What happened when you were on the phone with Jennifer and Chenowith?"

"That's it. He asked about you. He said you might really be an FBI agent, and I assured him you were just a cop."

"When are you going to meet with them?"

"I'm not," she said. "I told him I wasn't going to do it, and when he started to argue, I hung up on him."

"But you told him about me?"

"I just told you I did," she said. "That was before you pointed out to me the many benefits of changing sides."

"Don't start playing the bitch again. We don't have time for that."

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding genuinely contrite. "Forgive me. Matt, so much has happened-"

"Whatever happened to 'honey'?"

"I'm sorry, honey."

"You think he took 'no' for an answer? Or will he call again?"

"He'll probably call again."

"If he does, stall him again. I don't know how yet, I'll have to think about it, but maybe we can put his wanting to hide the bank money to our advantage."

"Matt, I don't want to betray them!"

"For the last fucking time, Susan, get it through your head that you don't have any options. They're going down, and all we can hope for is that I can figure out some way to keep you from going down with them!"

She met his eyes but didn't reply.

He angrily tossed his towel on the floor and walked out of the bathroom.

After a moment, she went after him.

He was on his hands and knees, reaching under the bed, and he pulled his and her clothing out from where he had kicked it. And something else. A snub-nosed revolver in a holster.

"Did you really think you would have to use that on me?" Susan asked.

"I'm a cop. Cops carry guns," he said somewhat abruptly. He tossed the clothing and then the pistol onto the bed, and reached for his shorts.

"Honey, I'm sorry," Susan said. "I really don't want you to be angry with me."

"I'm not angry."

"Yes, you are."

He looked at her.

"You're too goddamned smart to be stupid," he said. "And we can't afford it."

"I like the way you said 'we,' " she said softly.

That made him smile.

He made the sign of the cross. "I grant you absolution. Go, and be stupid no more."

"I'll try," she said.

She started to dress.

"Did you see what you did to my bra?" she asked a moment later, and showed it to him.

"I did that?"

"Yes, you did that."

"What's Mommy going to think when you come in the house flopping all over?"

"I'll keep my coat on."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"The bra? Throw it away. It's beyond repair."

"Can I have it?"

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Make a trophy out of it. A little foam rubber, so it looks lifelike, and a brass plate reading, 'Susan, 34B, Hotel Hershey,' and the date. Then I'll mount it on the wall, with all the others."

"Damn it, I'm serious."

He met her eyes.

"I don't know why I want it," he said. "I just do."

She held it out to him. When he put his hand out, she caught it and kissed it.

"For the record, it's a 34C," she said.

She let go of his hand, and he took the brassiere and stuffed it in his trousers pocket.

"Thank you, honey, for wanting it," Susan said.

When Phil Chason came home from Captain Karl Beidermann 's retirement party, it was half past two in the morning and he was half in the bag, and he almost didn't go into his basement office to see if there were any messages for him on the answering machine.

Phil and Karl Beidermann had gone through the Academy together, had had their first assignment-to the Central District-together, and had done a hell of a lot of things together on the job, although Karl had liked working in uniform (he retired as commanding officer of the 16th District) and Phil had decided he'd rather be-and stay-a detective, who with overtime took home as much money as a captain anyhow.

And it was good to see a lot of the people at the party. Once you went off the job, you didn't see people very much, and that was sort of sad. On the way home, Phil had thought that if he had to do it all over again, he still would have become a cop. He had had a good twenty-six years on the job, and no real complaints.

As he started up the stairs to his bedroom, he remembered about the answering machine downstairs in the of fice, and decided, fuck it, even if there was something on it, it would most likely be somebody trying to sell him a house in Levittown or just begging for money, and not somebody who needed the professional services of Philip Chason, retired Philadelphia Police Department detective.

But halfway up the stairs, he decided that he might as well check the son of a bitch, or otherwise he would stay awake all goddamn night wondering what might be on it.

He stopped, turned around on the stairs, and went back down them and then into the basement.

When he opened the door, the little red light indicating that somebody had called was flashing, so he flipped on the light switch, waited for the fluorescent light fixtures to take their own goddamned sweet time to come on, then sat down at the desk and pushed the Play switch.

"Phil, this is Joe Fiorello."

Fuck you, Joey Fiorello. Now I'm sorry I came down here.

"I'm really sorry to call this late, but at least, since I got your answering machine, I didn't wake you up, right?"

Get to the fucking point, Fiorello!

"Well, I guess you can guess why I'm calling, right, Phil? I got another job for you."

I figured you called me because you love me, asshole.

"So as soon as you get this message, you want to give me a call, Phil?"

It's half past two in the morning, Joey. You mean you want me to call you at half past two?

"This is important, Phil. And I would consider it a favor if you would get back to me just as soon as you can."

If it's important to you, then whatever it is, it's going to cost you through the nose, you sleazeball.

"I guess you've got the numbers, but just to be sure, I'll give you my private line at the lot and my number here at the house."

Fiorello recited the numbers slowly, then repeated them.

What I really should do is call you at your house and wake your greasy ass up!

Fuck it! I never should have come down here in the first place!

Phil stood up and walked to the door, turned off the flickering lights, and closed the door.

When he got to his bedroom, Mrs. Irene Chason greeted him by saying she knew he must have had a good time, because his breath smelled like a spittoon.