《《Stevenson》.docVIP

ICE BLUES RICHARD STEVENSON ONE THE ATTENDANT AT FAXON TOWING AND Storage looked surprised to see me back so soon, and a little wary. You all set? I need to use your phone. Theres a pay phone over to the station. I havent got a dime. Its a quarter now. I havent got a quarter, and the Albany police department doesnt accept collect calls from people they dont want to hear from. I know, Ive tried it. He had a broad fatigued face with heavily bagged eyes, one blue and white, one blue and red, not the result of patriotism but of a burst blood vessel in the corner of the right one. He smelled of grease and cold sweat, and this mixed with the stench of the kerosene heater and the Mr. Coffee machine, whose crud-stained pot contained two cups of a substance the EPA probably had on a list somewhere. Wet snow was starting to thud sloppily against the windowpane. You want the cops? Somethin wrong with your car? Somebody left something in it, I said. Oh yeah? Well, you could leave it here, case somebody calls. That wouldnt work. Its too hot in here. He looked at me as if I might be one of the deinstitutionalized, a new social class that merchants and tradesmen feel compelled to gingerly indulge up to a point. Shrugging, he said, Phones yours. Just make it quick. I got calls coming in. He lifted the filthy apparatus—no Trimline—off a pile of oil-smudged documents and set it on the counter. I dialed. Detective Lieutenant Bowman, please. This is Donald Strachey. Hang on, I think hes still here. The snow was pounding down hard now in the last light of the January afternoon. I said, This entire section of the North American continent should be declared unfit for human habitation. Huh? Its snowing again. The attendant shook his head. Thats Albany for ya. Winter gets some people down. Me, I dont mind. You must be half penguin. English, Irish, German, Norwegian—yeah, there might be some penguin in there somewhere. There were squawking and banging sounds at the other end of the line, th