“Y-You!” she said, fighting for breath. “You— you—!”

“Or if they was real tall folks,” I said, “you might poke ‘em in some other bodily orifice, which could be plumb embarrassin’ for you, not to mention the danger of getting your finger caught.”

She took a long, shuddery heave. Then she came over to the lounge and stood over me. “You you you son-of-a-bitch!” she said. “You you you rotten stinking bastard. You—you goddamned whoremongerin, double-crossing, low-down, worthless, no-good, mean, hateful, two-timing onery—”

“Now, god-dang it, Rose,” I said. “Danged if it don’t almost sound as if you was mad at me.”

“‘Mad!’” she yelled. “I’ll show you how mad I am! I’ll—”

“Better not holler so loud!” I said. “Folks might be roused into coming up here to find out what’s going on.

Rose said to let ‘em come, but she lowered her voice. “I’ll damned well tell them what’s going on, you dirty bastard! I’ll tell them just what happened!”

“And what would that be?” I said.

“Don’t you play dumb on me, damn you! You ‘know’ what happened! You were outside all the time, because I heard you when you drove away! You let it happen! You stood by watching while I had to kill two people!”

“Uh-huh?” I said. “Yeah?”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘Uh-huh yeah’? Are you saying that you didn’t do it, that it didn’t happen that way? That you didn’t plan the whole thing, an’—an’—”

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ like that at all,” I said. “All I’m saying or rather askin’ is what you’re goin’ to tell folks. What kind of a believable explanation are you going to put together for them two dead bodies you got in your house and the blood all over the floor, and the fact that even an idjit could prove they was shot with your gun? Because no one’s goin’ to believe the truth Rose; they just ain’t goin’ to believe no such wild story. You just think about it a minute, and you’ll see that they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to speak, to call me some more dirty names I guess. Then she seemed to have some second thoughts on the matter, and she sat down quietly at the side of the lounge.

“You’ve got to help me, Nick. You’ve got to help me cover this up some way.”

“Well, now, I don’t rightly see how I could do that,” I said. “After all, you’re guilty of murder an’ fornicatin’ and hypocrisy, an’—”

“Huh! ‘Wha-at!’” She glared at me. “Why, you forktongued son-of-a-bitch! You call me names after what you’ve done! And I don’t suppose you’re at all responsible, are you?”

“Not a speck,” I said. “Just because I put temptation in front of people, it don’t mean they got to pick it up.”

“I asked you a question, damn you! Who planned those murders? Who tells a lie every time he draws a breath? Who the hell is it that’s been fornicating with me, and God knows how many others?”