The Thursday evening was warm, moist, and overcast. There was no breeze, there were no stars. When the cab pulled away from the lockup, Edna Garson said, “Who called the police?”
Lockington growled, “Nellie Carson.”
Edna said, “Who’s Nellie Carson?”
Lockington said, “The witch who got the apartment above Mike’s Tavern.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Across the street from Mike’s.”
“Where’s Mike’s?”
“Belmont and Kimball.”
Edna gave instructions to the driver, then she turned back to Lockington. “Are you capable of driving?”
“Ever since I was fifteen.”
“Yes, but you haven’t been drunk ever since you were fifteen.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
“The charge was disturbing the peace. What the hell were you doing?”
“Singing.”
“Oh, my God! For how long?”
Lockington shrugged. “I dunno—maybe two, three hours. Who bailed Mike Kazman out?”
“His brother-in-law.”
“Impossible. Mike ain’t married.”
“His sister is.”
“Oh.”
“You’re still drunk.”
“So is Mike Kazman.”
“I got that impression. When they let him out, he was singing ‘My Wild Irish Rose.’”
“Yeah, I heard. Who was that lousy tenor?”
“The desk sergeant.”
Lockington shook his head. He said, “They were downright atrocious on ‘When My Blue Moon Turns to Gold Again.’”
Edna nodded. “Not particularly good on ‘When I Lost You,’ either. Do you know ‘When I Lost You?’”
“Why, hell, yes—everybody knows ‘When I Lost You.’”
Edna said, “Sing ‘When I Lost You.’”
Lockington sang “When I Lost You.”
The cab driver hauled his vehicle to a screeching halt, spinning in his seat. He was a big man with a handlebar mustache. There was a skull and crossbones embroidered on his black T-shirt. He said, “Hey, I know that one! Sing it again!”
Lockington sang it again and the cab driver chimed in. He had an excellent tenor, Lockington thought.
Edna Garson was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. She said, “Such a beautiful song.”