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"I'll let you out here and keep going, love," I said. "This is family business."
"Spenser, when am I going to see you again?"
"I don't know. We don't live in the same neighborhood, love. But I'm around. Maybe I'll come by sometime and take you to lunch."
"Or buy me an ice cream," she said.
"Yeah, that too."
She stared at me and her eyes filled up. She said, "Thank you," and got out of the car and walked up toward her house. I drove back to town, got my side stitched at Boston City by the same doctor, and went home.
It was dark when I got there, and I sat down in my living room and drank bourbon from the bottle without turning on the lights. They'd given me two pills at the hospital and combined with the bourbon they seemed to kill the pain pretty well.
I looked at the luminous dial of my wristwatch. 6:45. I felt as if I'd wrung out, and was drip-drying. I also felt that spending the night alone would have me screaming incoherently by 3 A.M.
I looked at my watch again. 6:55. I turned the light on and took off the watch. Inside, it still said Brenda Loring, 555-3676. I dialed the number. She answered.
I said, "Hello, my name is Spenser; do you remember me?"
She laughed, a terrific laugh, a high-class laugh. "With the shoulders, and the nice eyes, yeah, I remember." And she laughed again. A good laugh, full of promise. A hell of a laugh when you thought about it.