“Will I be seeing you again?” she asked.
“That the standard line you hand all the customers?”
She looked at me frankly and said, “Sure. What the hell did you think? That I want to marry you? If you’re a detective, be your age.”
“Thanks,” I told her. “You may see me again at that. In the meantime, I’m off.”
“Where?”
“Leg work. Lots of leg work. Chores. Damn details. I hate them, but you have to do them.”
She said, “I guess that’s life. For you and me and the other guy.”
“That the way it is with you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”