She looked at the ceiling in horror. His eyes followed hers as she flicked a large pinch in his mouth. He pretended he was chewing a chunk of steak, then went through a mock Jekyll-Hyde change of character. By dawn at 5 A.M. they were out of coke, whiskey, schnapps, corn chips, and were smoking Aurora’s last joint. He felt sad and depraved.

“Johnny, I’m no good at good-byes. Just tell me we’ll meet again someday.”

“We’ll meet again someday.”

“Say it better than that.”

“Someday, somewhere, we’ll meet again.” He felt a strange urge to sing a show tune, but could remember only bits. She began to snore, ever so delicately. “Love me or leave me. Let me he lonely.”

Chapter 28

The drive home was long and mournful. A mere three hours of sleep left a hole in creation when a body normally required ten hours. Always the enumerator, he made his ninth unsuccessful phone call in five days to Diana at a roadside booth. He needed deeply to whine to Diana. Where was she? Was someone tupping his heifer? Impossible. The miles became endless and he stomped on the gas. The shoulder holster itched in the July heat and he seriously considered pitching the .38 as he crossed the Mackinac Bridge. Warlock simply wasn’t a gun person. He would clean the pistol and put it permanently back in the closet like a retired gunslinger. “I will hone my body into fine steel,” he said aloud. Maybe buy a bulletproof vest or brass knuckles. He would work silently and guns made a lot of noise, though they don’t sound like the siren immediately behind him. Hudley jumped furiously around the car barking at the squad car tailgating the Subaru. He discovered that somehow in his dank reverie he had worked the car up to seventy-five. Shit. He stopped and rolled up the windows to avoid dog problems. The officer was walking up when he remembered the pistol. He got out slowly. Dad always said that fast movements tended to put cops on edge.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was lost in thought and going too fast.” He handed over his license and registration.

“Seventy-five.” They stared at each other, both wearing reflector sunglasses; both knights of the surrealist age, Warlock thought. The cop went back to the squad car for a radio check. Warlock moved away from the Subaru to avoid the barking. He looked off at the vast Pigeon River Forest, only lately handed over in the usual oil industry sucker punch, according to Diana. Her ERA efforts had not exhausted her interests in nature. She was a dynamo, he thought proudly. What could she have made for dinner? Maybe to celebrate his coming home she would put on her green satin dress and garter belt with no panties. The cop’s voice startled him; he had forgotten the occasion for a moment.