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Then she feigned sleep, her head on his shoulder. |
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Underneath it all, Cappy was smiling. Not bad. She hadn't lost her touch. Actually, it had been easy. Harvey was a piece of cake. She laid her hand on his thigh, a casual gesture in her sleep of course, and felt the tremor in his leg. Too easy. A wallet full of twenties. Getting even. That's what it's all about. Fuck you, Charles Everett Frazier, wherever you are. |
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Harvey Klinger was the kind who had to be coached. He handled the more obvious parts of his role with a minimum of direction; he assisted her out of the cab, walking her up the two lights of creaking wooden stairs to the cold water apartment on Front Street. He even managed the lock on the door and the part where he had to assist her over to the big, flowered, overstuffed couch. Cappy promptly sagged into it, the practiced look of faintness lost for the most part in the room's long shadows. |
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Harvey stood in the middle of the cluttered room, mouth slack, hands crammed in his pockets. He had the next line, but he didn't know his part. |
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Cappy took matters into her own hands. "Want something to drink?" As she made the offer, a funny thought tippled across her |
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