Before he could stop himself, Ralph trod on the photo. Then he stepped back hastily and, gripping the beer cans under one arm, stooped to retrieve it. Hunkering there, he studied the picture. It showed a buck-toothed girl of thirteen or fourteen years old, with caterpillar eyebrows and a strong Roman nose – a face uncannily like a dachshund’s.
It was a moment of no natural drama. A car alarm was going outside, and some passing kids were running through a Monty Python sketch in shrill, unconvincing accents. Eddie was on his knees, chewing the cellophane off a fresh pack of Dorals.
Ralph looked at the back of the picture, signed “Love, DC,” shook his head and said, “Denise Cadwallader.”
Eddie dropped the cigarettes, swearing, and gaped.
“No – no way, man. You mean you know Deesey?”
“Of course I know her,” Ralph said. “She’s my sister.”