She started for the door, turned back to me, took my face in her hands, looked down into my eyes, and then kissed me. “The landlord was over while you were gone,” she said casually. “He was calling me Mrs. Lam. So don’t destroy his illusions. By-by.”
She breezed out of the door. I sat down at the kitchen table, took a telephone directory, and made up a list of the places I wanted to call. I found some old magazines, read for a while, and then began to feel the effects of my unaccustomed exercise. I dozed off into a light sleep, waking occasionally just enough to realize that I should go in and see how Louie was getting along. But getting up out of the comfortable chair seemed too great an effort, and I’d drift off to sleep again.
I finally woke up enough to look in on Louie. He heard the door open. He opened bloodshot eyes, looked up at me and said, “Hello, buddy, how about some water?”
“In that pitcher right by your bed.”
He picked up the pitcher, disdained the glass, and drank about half of the contents.
“You know I’m a heel,” he said, putting down the pitcher and avoiding my eyes. “An’ I know I’m a heel.”
“You’re all right.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so damn nice about it.”
“Forget it.”
“I’d like to do some little thing for you, buddy — like a murder or something.”