That last question was shot out at me so fast the words all ran together.
I heard steps behind the woman. A man with round shoulders, a shirt open at the neck, an unbuttoned vest flaring away from the hollow chest, pushed reading glasses up out of the way onto his forehead, and stared at me owlishly. “What’s he want?” he asked the woman.
He was holding a newspaper between his thumb and forefinger. It was open at the sporting page. He had a little drooping, black mustache, and seemed comfortable and relaxed in his bedroom slippers.
“He wants to know where he can find that Framley girl.”
“Why don’t you tell him?”
“I am telling him.”
He pushed her to one side, and said, “Try the Cactus Patch.”
“Where’s that?”
“On the main stem, a casino, big bank of slot machines. You can’t miss it. Come on, Maw, mind your own business and let the girl mind hers.”
He pushed the woman to one side and slammed the door.