By Gil Brewer

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He had a big round stolid face, with eyes that looked everywhere but at you. The other guy was small, thin, wiry, and smiling. He wore dark slacks, and carried a light jacket over his arm. A belly-gun was snapped to his belt, left side. He saw me look at it, and quickly slipped his jacket on. He had thin pale blond hair, and tiny pock marks on his cheeks. His mouth, I saw, was shaped forever into a smile, the corners turned up. The big man said, “Mr. ” “Let’s go up to your room. ” They explained who they were.

You bastard,” he said with a near sob. I leaned close. ” He drove away fast. The blonde’s head snapped back over the seat lolling, and strings of thick spider webs spun purling from her open mouth. I looked at the clock. Why the hell didn’t she phone? Evening came on. Maybe she wouldn’t call the store. Maybe she figured that wasn’t wise. Somebody might catch her voice. I couldn’t take every call, and I was so nervous I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly this whole thing had become very immediate.

I don’t know how well you know him, but stay away from him from now on. If you see him, freeze him cold. Don’t even speak to him. He’s a bastard and he knows about the store, and I don’t like the way he acts. ” “That’s entirely possible,” she said. ” I wanted to hold her on the line. I wanted to be with her. I didn’t want her to hang up. “How you making out with the fishing? ” Then she called off the phone, “Be right with you, hon. ” Then to me, “Good night, Jim, I’m working. ” She was gone. A Taste for Sin — 59 I stretched out again, smoking.

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