And as he moved toward the door, the whisky in his veins made it several doors instead of one. He was still trying to find the right door when Lola re-entered the room.
“He ain’t in the bathroom,” she announced through tightened lips. She glared at Kerrigan. She said accusingly, “What are you and him up to?”
He sat down very slowly and carefully on a chair that wasn’t there. Again he was on the floor, wondering what had happened to the chair.
Lola studied him for a long moment. “How many quarts did you drink?”
He shrugged kind of sadly. “I didn’t have much. Guess I can’t hold it.”
“The hell you can’t. From the looks of you, you’re holding a gallon.”
She took hold of his wrists, pulled him up from the floor, and put him in the chair that he hadn’t been able to find. “Now then,” she said, “I want some information. Where is he?”
Kerrigan stared dumbly at Tom’s wife and said, “Maybe he went for a walk.”
“At this time of night? Where would he walk?”
The whisky fog came drifting in. Kerrigan blinked several times and said, “Maybe he got lost.” He gazed longingly at the bed and thought how pleasant it would be to go back to sleep.