"Her folks taken their time getting around to it -- looking for her," the women said thoughtfully.
"There's a little money involved. Not much. I guess they have to get her in order to touch it. Money sharpens the memory."
"So does liquor," the woman said. "Kind of hot today, ain't it? You said you was a copper though." Cunning eyes, steady attentive face. The feet in the man's slippers didn't move.
I held up the dead soldier and shook it. Then I threw it to one side and reached back on my hip for the pint of bond bourbon the Negro hotel clerk and I barely tapped. I held it out on my knee. The woman's eyes became fixed in an incredulous stare. Then suspicion climbed all over her face, like a kitten, but not so playful.
"You ain't no copper," she said softly. "No copper ever bought a drink of that stuff. What's the gag, mister?"
She blew her nose again, on one of the dirtiest handkerchiefs I ever saw. Her eyes stayed on the bottle. Suspicion fought with thirst, and thirst was winning. It always does.
--- Farewell, My Lovely, 1940
Jubal,
you sly dog you. I *knew* you'd dig up a Mike Carona allusion for us!
Posted by: tylerh | November 21, 2007 at 10:20 AM