BUT THERE WERE STILL SO MANY QUESTIONS.
Crowded in with Barbara in the phone booth on the street, he tried calling the Nero Agency again. Still no pick up. If Abe really was the guy April Lamotte had hired to find a lookalike for her husband, they’d have to find another way of working it out. He used the same dime to get put through to the communal hall in Doges Apartments, and the phone rang for almost as long as the Nero call before Glory picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Clark. Just thought I’d ring to check if anything’s up.”
“Up?”
“Any mail? Visitors? That kind of thing.”
“The guy about repossessing your car no show again if that what you mean.”
“Great. And, er, mail?”
“I look…” Footsteps. A long pause. Footsteps again. “Final demand for the IRS. Bill for the landlord. What look like a bill—”
“Just bills, then?” He could tell Barbara was laughing even though he could only see the back of her head. “Nothing else?”
“No, but you hiding or somesuch thing? Where you been?”
“Just busy on a case. Might take another day or so.”
“I hope she worth it.”
“I really do wish it was that kind of case, Glory.”
“Oh, and that woman I tell you ’bout call again. She still no give her name but say how much she worry about the husband. I give number again?”
“I guess so,” he muttered, knowing what Glory was like if you didn’t humor her.
“Well, Clark,” Barbara said, still chuckling as he put down the phone. “That was an interesting glimpse into your exciting life.”
“I’m not the one who’s living in that flea pit over there.”
“Sounds like your apartment is the total height of luxury…”
The air back out in the street smelled fresher this morning after last night’s rain, and there were puddles in the gutters, but Roger and his pals were busy as ever kicking their usual tin can.
“Say…” the kid drawled, chewing what was probably an entirely imaginary piece of gum. “It’s Tim Cookson and Frederica West. That car of yours still needs looking after, you know. Get all sorts of savory types around here.”
“It’s unsavory.” Clark handed him a quarter. “Anything much you noticed out here?”
“Not out here.” Roger winked at him, then looked at Barbara, who was back to wearing her usual mannish slacks and a Fairisle sweater, up and down in a way which was far too knowing for someone his age.
Barbara sighed. “Shouldn’t you be at school? Or in a reformatory?”
“Ain’t nothing I can learn there, lady, that I can’t pick up ten timesneater on these here streets.”
With another quarter stuffed in his pockets, Roger agreed to listen out again for the phone.