got Lou to take me down to Headquarters, where he let me see the bankbooks the old woman had left.
"She took damned good care of them," I said. "They look almost new."
"Wouldn't you take damned good care of the most important thing in the world to you?" he asked. "You've seen the hoards of money the others leave. Same thing."
I peered closely at the earliest entry, April 23, 1907, $150. My eyes aren't that bad; I was peering at the ink. It was dark, unfaded. I pointed it out to Lou.
"From not being exposed to daylight much," he said. "They don't haul out the bankbooks or money very often, I guess."
"And that adds up for you? I can see them being psychotics all their lives ... but not senile psychotics."
"They hoarded, Mark. That adds up for me."
"Funny," I said, watching him maneuver his cigarette as if he loved the feel of it, drawing the smoke down and letting it out in plumes of different shapes, from rings to slender streams. What a living he could make doing cigarette commercials on TV! "I can see you turn into one of these cases, Lou."