“You’re a liar,” Frank said.
“All right, I’m a liar.” He made a move toward the door. Frank wouldn’t get out of the way.
“I want to know what you’re up to,” Frank said. He blinked a few times. “We might as well get it straight here and now.”
“Get what straight?” Kerrigan’s eyes were drilling the face in front of him and trying to see what was going on in Frank’s mind.
Frank began to breathe very fast. Again he was staring at the wall. He said, “You’re not fooling me. You got a long way to go before you can fool me.”
Kerrigan made a weary gesture. “For God’s sake,” he said. “Why don’t you knock it off? Quit looking for trouble.”
Frank blinked again, and then for a moment his eyes were tightly shut as though he were trying to erase something from his mind. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t go away, and the weight of it seemed to push down on him, causing his skinny shoulders to sag. His head was bent low, and light from the ceiling bulb put a soft glow on his white hair. There was something gloomy in the way the light fell on him. It was like an eye looking down at him, feeling sorry for him.
It occurred to Kerrigan that he ought to show kindness toward Frank. He sensed that Frank was headed toward a breakdown, the total result of too many bad habits, especially alcohol. He thought, Poor devil looks all washed out, just about ready to drop.
He smiled softly and reached out and put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. Frank hopped backward as though he’d been jabbed with a hot needle. And then he went on moving backward, crouching and breathing fast with his mouth opened so that his teeth showed. His trembling lips released the choked whisper, “Keep your hands off me.”
“I’m only trying—”