“Oh, Johnny-” She stood up and tried to put her arms around him, then backed off and looked down at the strapped arm. “What happened? The lieutenant said you were all right-!”
“As usual, ma, the lieutenant is correct.”
“But your arm-!”
“I zigged when I should've zagged. Let's get out of here.”
In the cab he held her in the good arm all the way over to the apartment. Upstairs with the door closed she turned to him, and the brown eyes were anxious. “Johnny-”
“Post mortems later, ma. You got to get some sleep. Your eyes look like two burnt holes in a blanket. Hop in the sack.”
“Are you coming?”
“In a little while.” He eased himself down in his chair when she walked into the bedroom, but hoisted himself up almost immediately and walked out to the kitchen. From the cabinet he took down the bourbon bottle, and a little awkwardly poured himself a drink. He lifted it and studied it absently against the light, then on impulse walked into the bathroom. Drink in hand he examined the mirror the deep, dark circles under the eyes and the bronzed, barb-wire stubble on the jawline.
He threw back his head and drained the glass, swallowed hard, shuddered, and looked back into the mirror again at the lips drawn down thinly at the corners of the hard mouth. He spoke bitterly to the face in the mirror.
“'Goodbye, my friend. I have a certain familiarity with losing causes.'“ He cleared his throat, and put down the empty glass. “If you hadn't felt like playin' God, Ugly, you could've kept her alive. You think you can maybe convince yourself one of these days she probably really died a dozen years ago?”
He became aware that a sound impinging upon his consciousness was the dripping of water. He walked to the shower stall and turned the faucet viciously, and looked down a little blankly at the imprint of the metal in his palm.
He turned aimlessly back to the mirror; his voice when he spoke again was a husky whisper. “Willie-”
He broke away from the mirror and went into the bedroom. He looked down at the thin body on the bed, already asleep on top of the covers. He found a lightweight robe in the closet which he drew over her; she murmured in her sleep, breaking the rhythm of her breathing.
Johnny removed his clothes, with difficulty because of the strapped arm. He had trouble bending for shoelaces, but he got the shoes off. As he struggled out of the trousers he noticed the stains and abrasions in the fabric, and all too quickly his thoughts were back in Room 1224. He put it firmly from his mind.
He lay down on the further side of the bed, cautiously, so as not to disturb the sleeper. He eased himself onto his back, and threw the good arm behind his head. With his eyes he traced the sunlight on the ceiling, and the familiar smudges, cracks, and shadows.
In a little while he would sleep.