Page 32 - The Myth and the Moment

Afternoon

Police car in front of my place! Now what? Maybe that gorilla
down the hall finally strangled Mrs. Fulcrone! No, no ambulance, no
coroner, no white-sheeted lump on a stretcher. Better go in and see.
Even better: go in and don’t see. Eh? My door is open!
“There he is!”
“Hold it right there, buddy. Freeze!”
A gun!
“This the burglar, lady?”
“No, no, no, officers. He lives here. That’s the man who lives
here.”
“You sure, lady? Let’s see your identification, mister.”
Burglar? My place? My God, it’s all torn up!
“You hear me? Does he speak English, lady?”
“What—what happened?”
Dropped the iced tea. My shoe is wet. I’ll have to mop it up.
“You’ve been hit, buddy. Now, let me get your driver’s license for
the record, and we can wrap this up.”
“License? Oh, here it is. Right in my wallet. Here.”
Table knocked over. Drawers on floor. Papers on floor. No!
Where is The Myth? Where? Where?
“Evangelino, Nathan R. How long at this address?”
Not there! Wait! More papers under the bed!
“He’s been here more than two years, officer. Usually pays on
time, but not always. Not as bad as some I could name.”
“Yeah, sure. You’re the landlady, right? What happened here?”
“About ten minutes ago I heard somebody go down the hall,
running. Not familiar footsteps, neither, if you know what I mean. So
I went out in the hall. Didn’t see nobody, but his door was open. I
took one look and called you. Ain’t the first time my house been
robbed.”
It’s gone! The whole file! Everything! No! This can’t be happening!
No. No. No!
“Right. Got it. You didn’t see who was running out of the
building?”

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