Arnold lightly closed the door.
We tiptoed to the center of the living room. Arnold held the lighter toward Bill, reached out with his free hand, grabbed him by the coat and pulled him close. In the glow of the lighter Arnold’s teeth were the color of carrots. He said, “This ain’t it? This ain’t the apartment, is it?”
“I thought this was it,” Bill said. “I’d have sworn it was.”
“I knew this would happen,” I said. “I knew it.”
“It has to be the door on the other side of the lighted room,” Bill said. “We always came the other way. I got turned around.”
“I’ll turn you around,” Arnold said.
“Forget it,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We moved toward the door. Arnold started to open it, but we heard steps coming along the walk. Arnold killed the lighter. I went to the window, eased back the curtain for a peek.
It was the night watchman, an in-uniform off-duty cop. He stretched and leaned a hip into the railing just outside of the apartment and got a pack of cigarettes. He shook one loose and studied the moon while he put it in his mouth, routed it from one side to the other with his tongue. He positioned his gun holster where it was more comfortable without looking away from the sky. He patted his coat pockets and found a lighter and popped it and lit his coffin nail and puffed.
I dropped the curtain and eased back to Bill and Arnold.
“It’s the night watchman,” I whispered. “An off-duty cop picking up some bucks.”
“Oh hell,” Arnold said. “He sees that door’s been jimmied, we’re fucked.”
“Let’s just be quiet and let him finish his cigarette,” I said. “Maybe he won’t notice the door.”
I went back to the curtain, lifted a corner and looked out. The cop had changed positions slightly and wasn’t studying the sky anymore. He was smoking and looking in the direction of our door. He had a blank look on his face, a man with his thoughts turned oug. The coinwards. For all I knew, he might have been on the verge of redefining relativity, but if he focused just right, he was going to see where the wood had been splintered in the door jamb.
The bedroom door opened. I jerked around for a look.
The guy came out of the bedroom. He was still naked. He closed the bedroom door and scratched his ass and walked across to the bathroom. He went inside and closed the door and a light showed at the bottom. He hadn’t even looked in our direction. There came from the bathroom the sound of steady pissing.
Arnold said softly, “Hide.”
I hunkered down beside a thick chair facing the bathroom. I wasn’t behind anything. The chair was flush with the wall. I was hoping the shadows would blend me and the chair together.
Arnold got behind one end of the couch. He was too big to be completely concealed, but it offered some protection. Bill went over and stood against the wall on the bathroom side.
The sound of pissing went on and on.
Jesus, this guy could shame a racehorse.
After what seemed like a week or two, the pissing stopped.
Then started up again.
Reserve tank.
This went on for another week.
Then the door opened and the guy reached back absently and killed the light. He stood in the doorway a moment and cupped his balls for some reason, maybe to make sure they hadn’t fallen in the toilet, then let them go and scratched his head and raised his hip slightly and farted softly. He yawned, opened the bedroom door and went inside and closed it.
I started to get up, but the bedroom door opened again. I crouched down quickly as the woman, naked, came out and staggered toward the bathroom and went inside and turned on the light and didn’t close the door. A moment later, the sound of pissing.
Jesus.
It was like the bottom had fallen out of the ocean in there.
By and by, I heard water running, then she showed in the doorway. She straightened her posture, turned off the bathroom light, fluffed her hair, walked slowly to the bedroom, went inside and closed the door.
I got up and went over and lifted the curtain.
The cop was turned to the railing. He thumbed his cigarette butt over the side, leaned to watch it go down. After a moment, he threw up his hands and made a motion with his mouth that was probably supposed to signify an explosion.
He turned, started walking in the direction we had come up.
I motioned to Bill and Arnold. They came over. I cracked the door and looked out. Then opened it all the way and looked out. The watchman was gone. We slipped out, gently closing the door behind us.
Bill went to the apartment on the other side of the lighted room and touched the d t"1em" adoorknob with a Mickey Mouse glove.
“You’re sure?” Arnold said.
“Yeah,” Bill said. “I think so.”
Arnold looked at me. “He thinks so.”
“Do something,” I said.
Arnold slipped the bar in and popped the lock and we scooted inside.
Arnold clicked the lighter on.
Bill said, “Yeah, this is it.”
We went into the bedroom and closed the door and turned on the light. Bill looked through the stacks of video tapes on a shelf. “Here it is,” he said.
He handed me the video. On the outside of it was a little label and on it was written Fat Man and Doc. He scrounged some more and came up with Bill and the Train.
Cute guy, this Dave.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Check’m,” Arnold said.
I turned the audio knob on Dave’s TV down and fired up the VCR and put one of the cassettes in. We fast forwarded it. It was good quality. Dave had known what he was doing. There was a guy in a nice suit walking up the bank steps and there was a fat man walking down the steps. I killed it there.
Bill gave me the other one.
I put it in and raced it forward until we came to Bill with his pants down, tied to the railroad track.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
I put the video cassettes in my coat pocket turned off the VCR, the TV and the light. Arnold popped the lighter on. We followed him to the front door. Arnold cracked it open.
“Clear,” he said.
We went out and moved rapidly along the outside ramp in the same direction the night watchman had taken.
We went down the stairs, listening and watching. We crossed the apartment complex yard and made the sidewalk and turned back in the direction we had come without getting yelled at.
When we were in the pickup, I let out a sigh of relief. I started up and hit the road.
“Piece of cake,” Arnold said.
“Yeah,” Bill said, pulling off the mouse gloves. “That was kind of fun… Did you see the tits and legs on that babe?”
“You’re some piece of work, Bill,” I said. “Think back, it was your narrow-minded, lead with your dick attitude got you into this mess in the first place.”
“Shit,” Bill said. “You’re right. That pussy, man it’s some deadly stuff.”
“No,” Arnold said. “What’s deadly is how fucking stupid you are.”
“Yeah, well, anyway,” Bill said, “her and the guy, you got to say one thing for them. They were championship pissers, don’t you think?”
15
Morning was arriving by the time I reached my subdivision. The moon was still visible, fading out like a honey-colored throat lozenge sucked too thin. Cauliflower clouds swelled out of the arriving blue as if ripening, rolled across the heavens at a medium boil, made soft shadows that tumbled along the slate-colored highway and subdivision blacktop and concrete drive that led up to our house.
I parked in the garage and didn’t go inside right away. I stuffed the videotapes under the car seat, went out the side garage door and stood for a moment and watched the morning bloom. I wanted to commune with nature a spell before Beverly ripped my head off, split my gut and stuffed me with hot stones and sewed me back together.