Harry stuck his head through the kitchen door.
“I’ll just wash up,” he said,and headed back through the hall to the downstairs bathroom.
Seated at the kitchen table, Phil fished in his inside suit coat pocket for some legal forms, which he handed to Carol.
“Commitment papers?” Carol asked.
“We play along with Harry,” Phil explained. “Make up a story. Pretend they’re secret documents.” He affected what he thought was a spy’s voice. “Slipped to me by a one-legged dwarf…”
“You sound like Boris Badenov,” Carol said.
Through the half-open kitchen door, the UPS man, who had just arrived, watched Phil’s bizarre behavior.
“In a bordello,” Phil said in his cartoon villain’s voice as he leaned almost horizontally across the kitchen table, “staffed exclusively by fourteen-year-old albinos.”
Seeing the UPS man, Phil gave a sickly smile and, taking back the commitment papers, slipped them into his suit coat pocket.
“I tried the front,” the UPS man said, “but no one answered. Saw the cars in the driveway, figured somebody must be home, and…” He shrugged. “I got another package for Mr. Dickinson.”
As Harry entered the kitchen, he grinned at the UPS man.
“Hey, Mr. Dickinson,” the UPS man said. “Got another package for you.”
Harry took the package. Opened it. Found a paperback book with a lurid cover.
“The Simple Art of Murder,” Harry read, “by Raymond Chandler. The twentieth century’s greatest work of moral philosophy.”
Harry slipped the book into his suit coat pocket.
“Sign here,” the UPS man said.
Harry signed.
“‘The heroism of everyday life,’” the UPS man said, quoting Harry. “I told my wife that. She said, ‘What do you want to be a hero for?’ I said, ‘For my family.’ Remember I told you she didn’t want another kid?” The UPS man raised his chin. “Last night, we started working on it. If it’s a boy, we’ll name it Harry.”
Harry handed back the clipboard.
“Good luck,” Harry said to the UPS man, who slipped out.
“Harry,” Phil said conspiratorially, “this morning … At my office…”
From his pocket, Phil pulled out the legal papers. He couldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. Or Carol’s.
“I found these secret documents.…”
Harry glanced at the papers.
“Look like commitment papers to me,” he said, handing them back to Phil. To Carol, Harry said, “Might be home late.”
Harry pulled his hat low over his right eye and breezed out.
Carol looked at Phil. who shrugged.
“You got a better idea?” Phil asked.