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machine, Lisa. Would you like a Pepsi or . . .?' |
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'Can we just get on with it?' Francine asked. |
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Nodding, he closed the door. Through the glass, he saw Patterson leer at him, pump his fist, and mouth something that looked like 'Va va va voom.' |
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Thinks he's doing me a favor, sending me in with these two. Knockouts. Right. |
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I could be sitting at O'Casey's, right now. I could be talking to Maureen. |
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He turned to the women. They were seated facing the table, their backs to him. He stepped behind them. He picked up a legal pad from a stack at the end of the table, then swung a chair out past the corner and sat down. He wanted to keep it informal. He didn't want the table in the way. He told himself that it had nothing to do with wanting a better view of Patterson's knockouts. He crossed one leg, rested the legal pad against his upthrust knee, and said to Lisa, 'I understand that you knew Maxwell Chidi.' |
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'Yeah,' she said. She glanced at him, then looked the other way to check on her mother who was nearly hidden from Trev's view on her far side. She then did just what he expected. She scooted her chair away from the table, far back until it bumped the window sill and she no longer separated Trev from her mother. |
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Then both women turned their chairs toward him. |
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'They were going together,' Francine said. 'I didn't know a thing about it. The last I heard, she was still going with Buddy Gilbert.' |
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Trev plucked a ballpoint from his shirt pocket and |
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