Part 4 (1/2)

c.r.a.phound waved his bidding card, and I jumped as if I'd been stung.

”I got twenty from the s.p.a.ce cowboy, I got twenty, sir will you say thirty?”

I waved my card.

”That's thirty to you sir.”

”Forty,” c.r.a.phound said.

”Fifty,” I said even before the auctioneer could point back to me. An old pro, he settled back and let us do the work.

”One hundred,” c.r.a.phound said.

”One fifty,” I said.

The room was perfectly silent. I thought about my overextended MasterCard, and wondered if Scott/Billy would give me a loan.

”Two hundred,” c.r.a.phound said.

Fine, I thought. Pay two hundred for those. I can get a set on Queen Street for thirty bucks.

The auctioneer turned to me. ”The bidding stands at two. Will you say two-ten, sir?”

I shook my head. The auctioneer paused a long moment, letting me sweat over the decision to bow out.

”I have two -- do I have any other bids from the floor? Any other bids? Sold, $200, to number 57.” An attendant brought c.r.a.phound the gla.s.ses. He took them and tucked them under his seat.

I was fuming when we left. c.r.a.phound was at my elbow. I wanted to punch him -- I'd never punched anyone in my life, but I wanted to punch him.

We entered the cool night air and I sucked in several lungfuls before lighting a cigarette.

”Jerry,” c.r.a.phound said.

I stopped, but didn't look at him. I watched the taxis pull in and out of the garage next door instead.

”Jerry, my friend,” c.r.a.phound said.

”_What_?” I said, loud enough to startle myself. Scott, beside me, jerked as well.

”We're going. I wanted to say goodbye, and to give you some things that I won't be taking with me.”

”What?” I said again, Scott just a beat behind me.