LITMIR.BIZ

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my money.”

      “We certainly can’t have that,” I say. I turn to Jake. “I’m going to drive around the neighborhood. If I don’t find her in thirty minutes or so, I’m filing a missing persons.” I turn back to Roland. “What is she wearing?”

      “My raccoon coat, bobby socks and tennis shoes with holes in the toes.”

      Albie appears in the doorway with Bo wrapped in a towel. He wiggles free and runs to the bedside, whining and prancing and waiting to be lifted onto the bed.

      “Get him away from me!” says Roland. “Nothing smells worse than a damp dog. Lock him in the bathroom.”

      “I’ll hold him,” says Albie, picking him up.

      “Hold him? You can keep him.”

      “Can I really, Mr. Roland?”

      “French bulldogs are the most useless creatures on earth. That’s why Lulu’s sister gave him to us. They can’t hunt nor herd. They can’t breed without assistance or give birth without veterinary intervention. If they try to swim their big heads pull them right to the bottom faster than the Titanic.”

      Albie walks to the window overlooking the back alley, Bo nibbling affectionately at his chin. “I think you’re cute,” he says, and gives him a squeeze. Beyond the window the rain falls steadily, the power lines whipping between the poles. “Where’s your car, Mr. Roland?”

      “Where it always is, parked next to the garbage cans.”

      “Ain’t there now.”

      “You blind? It’s the green, Chevy sedan.”

      Green sedan. That gets my antennae quivering.

      “Like I say, it just ain’t there,” says the boy.

      “Where do you keep the keys, Mr. Barker?” I ask.

      “In the ash tray by the phone.” I walk over and take a look.

      “They’re gone.”

      “Since when has Lulu started driving?” asks Jake.

      “She doesn’t drive,” says Roland. “I gave her lessons once, but it was like teaching a monkey to balance a check book. She couldn’t tell the difference between the gas and the brake no matter how many times I explained it. You need to get cracking, Jack. I want my car back in one piece.”

      Jake turns to Albie. “Go get Agnes Peel. She’ll be cleaning on the second floor. Tell her to bring Mr. Barker some soup. Then I’m calling his doctor.”

      “And tell her not to forget the crackers.” says Roland. “I can’t eat soup without crackers. Not the big ones, either. Those little round ones.”

      I can only take Roland Barker in small doses.

      “I have to go,” I say.

      “I’ll ride down with you,” says Angel. “Hank is holding my new book at the desk.” As we ride the elevator to the lobby I notice how pale she is. “Mr. Barker is the most ungrateful man I’ve ever met,” she says. “I don’t know how Lulu tolerates him.”

      “By getting dementia.”

      “Oh Jack, you’re terrible.”

      “I know I am. Did you know there’s a button missing from your coat?”

      Angel looks down. “So there is. It’s probably somewhere in the room.”

      “Are you alright? You’re not coming down with something are you?”

      “I got cold coming back from the book store. I didn’t think the light would ever change.”

      The elevator bounces to a stop in the lobby and we get out. Hank retrieves her book from behind the desk and she thanks him. I peel a few bucks from my wallet.

      “Here, in case you need something. Promise me you’ll eat.”

      “I promise.”

      I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It’s damp with rain and her hands are like ice. Something’s not right, something more than the weather, but I can’t put my finger on it.

      * * * *

      In a house set back from the highway, Kenny Geiger, age 6, sits at the table with his chin in his hands, looking at the empty chair across from him. The wind is up and a shingle flies past the kitchen window. His mother looks up from a sink of sudsy water. “Kenny dear, you might as well finish the last pork chop. If Georgie was coming, he’d be here by now.”

      “I can’t Mom. I’m stuffed.”

      “I can,” says Mr. Geiger, balancing his cigar stub on the edge of his plate. He picks up his fork, but his heroic girth seriously impedes his reach. Kay seizes the moment and stabs the chop with a fork. Within seconds she has it wrapped in waxed paper and in the ice box, obviously quite pleased with herself. She has a friendly mischievous face and a head of frizzy Orphan Annie curls. She’s as fit and quick as Harry is fat and slow.

      “What the…?”

      “I’m saving you from yourself, Harry. You’re beginning to look like William Howard Taft.”

      “Then maybe I’ll run for president.”

      “You can’t even run to the mailbox.”

      Kenny snickers.

      “You’re a wicked woman,” says Harry, unable to suppress a smile. “A wicked, wicked woman.” She walks behind his chair and playfully musses his hair.

      Harry and Kenny push away from the table as Kay washes and dries the last of the dishes. Harry thumps into his broken-down easy chair and picks up The Saturday Evening Post. Kenny goes to the front window and looks into the fading daylight. Kay comes up behind him.

      “I wish you wouldn’t worry so much, Kenny. When Georgie saw the rain coming he probably went home to be with his family.”

      “Mom, you don’t understand. He was right behind me. When I turned around he was gone. All he talked about was the sleepover. His family’s been eating cold beans from the can, and he knew you were making pork chops.”

      “I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it on Monday.”

      “That Allen kid could use a few extra pounds,” says Harry.

      “You could give him a few of yours, dear.”

      “Very funny. Besides, I’m not so sure I want him sleeping on our sheets and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

      “It’s not a crime to be poor, Harry.”

      He raises his arms in a helpless gesture. “Don’t come down on me. I didn’t make him that way.”

      “You’re talking about my best friend,” says Kenny.

      “Which puzzles me no end,” says Harry, shaking his head.

      “Can’t we change the subject to something pleasant?” says Kay.

      “Sure.” Harry closes his magazine and rubs his growling stomach. “Everybody at work is talking about the Mulholland Dam collapse of ’28. Destroyed the whole town of Castaic. Every living thing. Now, there’s a history lesson I bet they don’t teach you in school.”

      “Is that going to happen to us?” says Kenny, turning from the window.

      “Of course not,” says Kay. “Even if the levy gives it could never be that bad.”

      “Yup, the whole town gone,” says Harry. “Every baby in its crib. Every chicken and mule.”

      “Must you go on like that in front of the boy? You’ll give him nightmares.”

      “Over six hundred people died in that flood,” he continues,

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