Foster got into his car. We got into ours. Then we just sat there. “Is he waiting for us to leave first?” Bernie said. I had no idea. “If he is, why should we cooperate?” Bernie started fishing around in the glove box and under his seat, finally coming up with a bent cigarette. Poor Bernie. He never bought cigarettes anymore, was trying so hard to quit. Bernie didn’t glance at Foster, but I watched him. He was watching us. Bernie took his time lighting up, took a deep drag, blew the smoke out slow. Foster’s lips moved; I couldn’t hear him, but was pretty sure he’d spoken some short, angry word. He drove off.
Bernie smiled. “You know what’s interesting, Chet?” Of course I did. It’s a long long list, starting with treats of various kinds, such as bacon bits and milk bones – and don’t forget ribs, especially from Max’s Memphis Ribs – and what about balls? Baseballs, tennis balls, golf balls, lacrosse balls – what’s more interesting than a lacrosse ball, especially the way it –
“What’s interesting is that he left four grand on the table, didn’t make the slightest attempt to negotiate. What are we going to do about that?”
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