Half her words were inaudible, and he had only a general sense of what she was trying to say. All he could think about was Bunny and her plan to murder Claire, and how he had almost let it happen. He couldn’t let it happen. Things had spiraled out of control. One minute he’s kissing a beautiful dame behind her ear, the next he’s sweating over his life. “Nothing for me, thanks. Maybe just some coffee.”
Claire nodded to the waiter, and coffee was served. All the while, she kept talking about something he could not quite follow regarding how she and Mr. Rosen were introduced and came to know each other. “… so you see, Phil, Mr. Rosen has been doing a bit of detective work for me. I’ve suspected, ever since that night you bumped into Katie and her friends outside of Bridge on the River Kwai, was it? And who else is there but Bunny. I’d have thought it was a coincidence like you told Kate, but then she said that when she first saw you two, it was like you were a couple of high school kids who got caught out on a date …”
Trying to remember that afternoon, Phil sipped at his coffee, which was too hot to drink.
“Mr. Rosen here is what they call a private dick in the movies. Don’t you just love the sound of that? Private dick?” She chuckled to herself. “Anyway, he’s been following you off and on for the past three months.”
The baton was handed to Rosen. His voice was not gruff as Phil had expected, but surprisingly sweet and cheerful, the kind of voice that makes people listening feel gay and carefree. “Standard stuff, really. Philandering husband, happens all the time, and it’s just a matter of making a record of your dalliances, taking a few photos, collecting evidence.”
Her laugh fairly tinkled with glee. “You see, I was about to divorce you, darling. I knew you were shtupping Bunny, and it was just a matter of Mr. Rosen here putting together his dossier. But you’ve saved me the trouble. Tell him about the chihuahua, Mr. Rosen.”
The thought of the little dog inspired a particular delight, for Mr. Rosen grinned so widely that his gold fillings showed. “Funny story, Mr. Ketchum. Cigarette?” He extended a pack of Luckys, and everyone took a smoke. “When I’m engaged in a surveillance, I like to get some help, see, some people on the margins of my subject’s life that don’t really have a stake in the matter. You know, doormen are useful people in cases of adultery. So are bartenders and waiters. You remember the peanut vendor down at the park you and Bunny like to visit? He puts you two together six times over April and May. And you’re always running out of smokes right around the corner from her building. The Persian fella that runs the newsstand says you never have any coins, just bills. You get the idea. People see you around. Quite a bit.”
The coffee had cooled just enough to drink, and the caffeine and nicotine raced through his worn-out system till he felt almost normal.
“So I had the folksinger downstairs, Woody, feeding me bits of info, and it was the dog that proved the most helpful. You ever seen a Mexican chihuahua before, Mr. Ketchum? They are very nervous around strangers, and this little one barked at everyone in the building. Everyone, that is, except Bunny’s husband, Jerry. The thing is, Jerry took the trouble to bring that dog a treat when he came home from the deli. A little nosh. Some pastrami, maybe a bit of cheese, a morsel of corned beef.”
Lunch arrived. A nice piece of sole for Claire, and a plate of fried clams for Rosen. Smelling the food, Phil wished he, too, had ordered something. He was suddenly ravaged with hunger.