He moved toward the alley. Then he was in the alley, looking down at the bloodstains. He wondered why his eyes felt cold. Quit it, he told himself. Get out of here. Go home. But he stood there looking down at the crimson stains on the rutted paving. A minute passed, another minute, and then all at once he had the feeling that someone was watching him.
He turned very slowly. He saw the carrot-colored hair and thick neck and sloping shoulders of Mooney. The sign painter had his head slanted and his arms folded and seemed to be appraising Kerrigan as though lining him up for a charcoal sketch.
Kerrigan smiled uncertainly. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Just happened to see you,” Mooney said. He shifted his position, leaning against the wall of the shack at the edge of the alley. His hair was damp and shiny.
“Enjoy your swim? Cool you off any?” Kerrigan asked.
Mooney had a look of grumbling displeasure. “That goddamn river. Cooled me off, hell. Only thing it did, it almost drowned me.”
Kerrigan grinned. “Was Nick there to see it?”
Mooney nodded. He said offhandedly, “Reached me just in time. I went down twice before he dived in.”
Kerrigan was still grinning. “Where’s Nick now?”
“Went home. That’s what I oughta do.” He shrugged again. Then he looked at Kerrigan and said quietly, “Making progress?”