Part 57 (1/2)

”And she's asking you, Pat-she's asking asking you you-to come slide your d.i.c.k through those lips and you say no no? What're you, gay?”

”You bet,” I said. ”Come on back and f.a.g-bash me. Use the chair.”

I peered through the rain at the windows on the other side of the street.

”And she picked up the check,” he said, his soft monotone like a whisper in a dark room. ”She picked up the check, wanted to blow you, looks like six or seven million bucks-fake t.i.ts, true, but nice fake t.i.ts, and hey, no one's perfect-and you still say no. Hats off to you, buddy. You're a stronger man than me.”

A man with a baseball cap on his head and an umbrella raised above him walked through the mist toward me, a cellular pressed to his ear, his strides loose and confident.

”Me,” the voice said, ”I'd figure her for a screamer. Lots of 'Oh, G.o.ds' and 'Harder, harders.'”

I said nothing. The man with the baseball cap was still too far away for me to see his face, but he was getting closer.

”Can I be frank with you, Pat? A piece of a.s.s like that comes along so seldom that if I were in your place-and I'm not, I know that, but if I were-I'd just feel compelled to go back with her to that apartment on Exeter, and I gotta be honest with you, Pat, I'd hump her till the blood ran down her thighs.”

I felt cold moisture that didn't come from the rain seep down behind my ear.

”Really?” I said.

The man with the baseball cap was close enough for me to see his mouth, and his lips moved as he approached.

The guy on the other end of the line was silent, but somewhere on his end, I could hear a truck grind its gears, the patter of rain off a car hood.

”...and I can't do do that, Melvin, if you've got half my s.h.i.+t tied up offsh.o.r.e.” The man in the baseball cap pa.s.sed me, and I could see he was at least twice the age of the guy from the patio. that, Melvin, if you've got half my s.h.i.+t tied up offsh.o.r.e.” The man in the baseball cap pa.s.sed me, and I could see he was at least twice the age of the guy from the patio.

I stood, looked as far up and down the street as I could.

”Pat,” the guy on the phone said.

”Yeah?”

”Your life is about to get...” He paused and I could hear him breathing.

”My life's about to get what?” I said.

He smacked his lips. ”Interesting.”

And he hung up.

I swung my body over the wrought-iron fence that separated the patio from the sidewalk, and the rain found my head and chest as I stood on the sidewalk for a while with people walking around me and occasionally jostling a shoulder. Eventually, I realized standing there did no good. The guy could be anywhere. He could have called from the next county. The truck that had ground its gears in the background hadn't been in my immediate vicinity or I would have heard it on my end.

But he'd been close enough to know when Vanessa left and to call within a minute of her abrupt departure.

So, no, he wasn't in another county. He was here in Back Bay. But even so, that was a lot of ground to cover.

I started walking again, my eyes searching the streets for a glimpse of him. I dialed Vanessa's number and when she answered, I said, ”Don't hang up.”

”Okay.”

She hung up.