tire. Hoping to use your phone.’
‘Flat tire?’
‘Yeah, over on Normandie.’
‘Normandie? Don’t you live off Western?’
‘You can’t choose where to get a flat.’
‘You don’t have a cell phone?’
Although Simon himself didn’t have one, it seemed odd to him; everybody had a cell phone these days.
‘I do,’ Robert said, pulling it from his pocket and holding it up, ‘but I dropped it in the toilet at work when I was pulling up my pants. Fried it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is it a problem?’
Simon tried to smile but it felt like a grimace. All he could think of was the corpse in his bathtub.
‘Of course not,’ he said.
He walked to the front door and unhooked the shoelace from the nail in the wall. The front door swung open on its own. It occurred to him now how dumb it had been to leave his apartment
unsecured like that. He should have done something to keep the apartment closed off this morning. Well, what was done was done. There was no point in worrying over—
‘Come on in.’
They stepped over the splinters of wood still on the floor.
Simon pushed the door shut behind them, and then shoved the back of a chair under the doorknob to keep it closed.
‘Go ahead and call whoever you need to. Want a drink?’
‘Sure.’
Simon nodded, then headed into the kitchen.
The two men sat on the couch with their whiskeys. Someone from the auto club would be arriving within thirty minutes. Simon watched Francine pull fish food from the neuston at
the water’s surface and into her black mouth. He wanted Robert out of his apartment.
He had done Robert a favor a few months ago, a big one – it was how they’d become friends – but it wasn’t the kind of favor that would allow Simon to show the man the
corpse in his tub. Robert might have been beaten to a pulp and/or spent a few months in a Tijuana jail cell without Simon’s help – but months were not years.
He wanted Robert out of his apartment.
Robert took a swallow of his whiskey.
‘You never said what happened last night.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. It was all he could think to say.
‘So?’
‘It’s not even worth discussing, really.’
‘What else are we gonna talk about? Politics?’ He said this last word with disgust.
Simon exhaled in a sigh, took a sip of his whiskey.
‘This guy broke into my apartment. I heard the noise and came out to the living room. I’d been in bed. He was digging through my record collection. I have a lot of old records. Maybe
he followed me home from the record shop on La Brea on Saturday. I don’t know. Anyways, when he saw me, he attacked. I fought back, but . . . he must have brained me or something.’ He
shook his head to demonstrate his confusion. ‘When I woke up he was gone.’
Robert looked at the record collection.
‘It doesn’t look like he took anything.’
‘He must have panicked after the confrontation.’
‘Maybe,’ Robert said.
Simon reached into the inside pocket of his corduroy sport coat and pulled out his Camel Filters and his Zippo lighter. He lighted a cigarette. Usually he didn’t smoke inside. He hated the
stale smell of cigarettes lingering in a room. Usually he climbed through the bathroom window and smoked on his fire escape if he didn’t want to trudge all the way downstairs. But he was
nervous and he needed to be doing something, and the bathroom was not available. He inhaled deeply.
‘You all right?’ Robert asked.
Simon glanced at him. Was there a look of suspicion in Robert’s eyes? Simon thought perhaps there was. Something about the way his eyebrows were cocked, the way his head was tilted, like a
cat about to pounce on a mouse, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
‘Yeah,’ Simon said. ‘I guess I’m more upset by the break-in than I realized.’
Robert nodded. Then he drained the rest of the whiskey from his glass, set it on the coffee table, and got to his feet. He twisted his neck around, sending out several pops from between the
‘Flat tire?’
‘Yeah, over on Normandie.’
‘Normandie? Don’t you live off Western?’
‘You can’t choose where to get a flat.’
‘You don’t have a cell phone?’
Although Simon himself didn’t have one, it seemed odd to him; everybody had a cell phone these days.
‘I do,’ Robert said, pulling it from his pocket and holding it up, ‘but I dropped it in the toilet at work when I was pulling up my pants. Fried it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is it a problem?’
Simon tried to smile but it felt like a grimace. All he could think of was the corpse in his bathtub.
‘Of course not,’ he said.
He walked to the front door and unhooked the shoelace from the nail in the wall. The front door swung open on its own. It occurred to him now how dumb it had been to leave his apartment
unsecured like that. He should have done something to keep the apartment closed off this morning. Well, what was done was done. There was no point in worrying over—
‘Come on in.’
They stepped over the splinters of wood still on the floor.
Simon pushed the door shut behind them, and then shoved the back of a chair under the doorknob to keep it closed.
‘Go ahead and call whoever you need to. Want a drink?’
‘Sure.’
Simon nodded, then headed into the kitchen.
The two men sat on the couch with their whiskeys. Someone from the auto club would be arriving within thirty minutes. Simon watched Francine pull fish food from the neuston at
the water’s surface and into her black mouth. He wanted Robert out of his apartment.
He had done Robert a favor a few months ago, a big one – it was how they’d become friends – but it wasn’t the kind of favor that would allow Simon to show the man the
corpse in his tub. Robert might have been beaten to a pulp and/or spent a few months in a Tijuana jail cell without Simon’s help – but months were not years.
He wanted Robert out of his apartment.
Robert took a swallow of his whiskey.
‘You never said what happened last night.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. It was all he could think to say.
‘So?’
‘It’s not even worth discussing, really.’
‘What else are we gonna talk about? Politics?’ He said this last word with disgust.
Simon exhaled in a sigh, took a sip of his whiskey.
‘This guy broke into my apartment. I heard the noise and came out to the living room. I’d been in bed. He was digging through my record collection. I have a lot of old records. Maybe
he followed me home from the record shop on La Brea on Saturday. I don’t know. Anyways, when he saw me, he attacked. I fought back, but . . . he must have brained me or something.’ He
shook his head to demonstrate his confusion. ‘When I woke up he was gone.’
Robert looked at the record collection.
‘It doesn’t look like he took anything.’
‘He must have panicked after the confrontation.’
‘Maybe,’ Robert said.
Simon reached into the inside pocket of his corduroy sport coat and pulled out his Camel Filters and his Zippo lighter. He lighted a cigarette. Usually he didn’t smoke inside. He hated the
stale smell of cigarettes lingering in a room. Usually he climbed through the bathroom window and smoked on his fire escape if he didn’t want to trudge all the way downstairs. But he was
nervous and he needed to be doing something, and the bathroom was not available. He inhaled deeply.
‘You all right?’ Robert asked.
Simon glanced at him. Was there a look of suspicion in Robert’s eyes? Simon thought perhaps there was. Something about the way his eyebrows were cocked, the way his head was tilted, like a
cat about to pounce on a mouse, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
‘Yeah,’ Simon said. ‘I guess I’m more upset by the break-in than I realized.’
Robert nodded. Then he drained the rest of the whiskey from his glass, set it on the coffee table, and got to his feet. He twisted his neck around, sending out several pops from between the
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