“The reason I called, Lee, did you happen to notice when Joanie was leaving? Did you happen to notice if she left with the Ellenbogens, by any chance?”
The gray-haired man looked left again, but high this time, away from the girl, who was now watching him rather like a young, blue-eyed Irish policeman. “No, I didn’t, Arthur,” he said, his eyes on the far, dim end of the room, where the wall met the ceiling. “Didn’t she leave with you?”
“No. Christ, no. You didn’t see her leave at all, then?”
“Well, no, as a matter of fact, I didn’t, Arthur,” the gray-haired man said. “Actually, as a matter of fact, I didn’t see a bloody thing all evening. The minute I got in the door, I got myself involved in one long Jesus of a session with that French poop, Viennese poop—whatever the hell he was. Every bloody one of these foreign guys keep an eye open for a little free legal advice. Why? What’s up? Joanie lost?”
“Oh, Christ. Who knows? I don’t know. You know her when she gets all tanked up and rarin’ to go. I don’t know. She may have just—”
“You call the Ellenbogens?” the gray-haired man asked.
“Yeah. They’re not home yet. I don’t know. Christ, I’m not even sure she left with them. I know one thing. I know one goddam thing. I’m through beating my brains out. I mean it. I really mean it this time. I’m through. Five years. Christ.”
“All right, try to take it a little easy, now, Arthur,” the gray-haired man said. “In the first place, if I know the Ellenbogens, they probably all hopped in a cab and went down to the Village for a couple of hours. All three of ‘em’ll probably barge—”
“I have a feeling she went to work on some bastard in the kitchen. I just have a feeling. She always starts necking some bastard in the kitchen when she gets tanked up. I’m through. I swear to God I mean it this time. Five goddam-“
“Where are you now, Arthur?” the gray-haired man asked. “Home?”