Channing was pouring more whisky into his glass. He took a long, slow drink, the equivalent of three shots. He said, “I told you to set the date.”
Kerrigan scowled at Frieda and said, “You damn fool. Can’t you see he’s pulling your leg? He’s making you pay for the gin. Only thing he wants is entertainment.”
“Aw, dry up,” Frieda said. “I ain’t askin’ for your opinion.” She turned to Channing and smiled fondly at him. There was some sadness in the smile. “It’s all right, I know it’s just a gag. I know you can’t really mean it.”
“But I do mean it,” Channing said. His voice was soft, his eyes were tender. He spoke to her as though Kerrigan weren’t there. “Believe me,” he said. “Try to believe me.”
Kerrigan snorted. He pulled away from the table and turned toward the door. He took a step in that direction and then he saw Loretta at the bar on the other side of the room. He stood motionless, looking at her as she leaned over the bar. Gradually his eyes narrowed. He went back to the table and picked up the camera. He walked slowly across the room and came up beside her and put the camera on the bar.
He said matter-of-factly, “You left this in the pier office.”
He was turning to leave. She put her hand on his arm. “Please don’t go.”
“I have a date.”
She looked him up and down. “Is that why you’re all dressed up?”
He didn’t reply.