She came against me, her mouth on mine. We stayed like that for some time. Then suddenly she pushed away from me and stood up. For a moment I thought she was just a kiss-and-good-bye girl, but I was wrong. She crossed the room to the door and turned the key.
Then she came back and sat down again.
III
I parked the Buick outside the County Buildings at the corner of Feldman and Centre Avenue, and went up the steps and into a world of printed forms, silent passages and old-young clerks waiting hopefully for deadmen’s shoes.
The Births and Deaths Registry was on the first floor. I filled in a form and pushed it through the bars to the redheaded clerk who stamped it, took my money and waved an airy hand towards the rows of files.
“Help yourself, Mr. Malloy,” he said. “Sixth file from the right.”
I thanked him.
“How’s business?” he asked, and leaned on the counter, ready to waste his time and mine.
“Haven’t seen you around in months.”
“Nor you have,” I said. “Business is fine. How’s yours? Are they still dying?”