Page 86 of No Headlines Please

I perked up. "Not just shrimp. Bacon-wrapped shrimp." I lifted the plate higher. "So you'll take it, right?"

He made no move. "You remembered the fries?"

In spite of my embarrassment, I had to laugh. "Not just fries. Truffle fries." Again, my gaze strayed to the groceries on his kitchen table. Softly, I said, "And just so you know, I'm doing fine."

This wasn't quite true. My finances were still a mess. But I wasn't starving in the gutter, and there was no way on Earth I'd take Walt's groceries.

Still, my heart warmed as I said, "But that was really nice of you, so…thanks, seriously."

He snorted. "You won't be thanking me later when I call the cops."

I froze. "The cops?"

"Yeah. On account of you turning tricks."

My horror must've shown on my face, because he laughed. "Relax, I'm pulling your leg." Finally, he took the plate. "But come on in. The ballgame don't start for five minutes, so you can tell me all about it." He looked toward the ceiling. "Before I hear it from her. She's like this every year, you know."

I wasn't following. "What do you mean every year?"

"Every spring, ol' Herb – that's her husband – heads out to Montana for two whole weeks. Fly-fishing. Lucky bastard. And you know who gets to deal with his wife?"

It was easy to guess. "You?"

"Yeah, but not only me. It's everyone. For those couple of weeks, it's like she's bored without him, so she goes all mall cop on the building."

I felt an odd surge of relief. "So it's not just me?"

"Hell no," he said. "She's called me a dozen times in the past day alone. Only half of them have been about you."

"Half?" I considered the size of the building. "Actually, that sounds like a lot."

Walt gave a loose shrug. "Eh, you're fresh meat. What do you expect?"

"Oh, come on," I laughed. "You make it sound like prison."

"It is," he said. "That's why I'm counting down the days to retirement. Speaking of which…keep that rent receipt if you want, but don't go waving it around until I'm good and gone."

"Deal." I smiled. "So, do you know where you're going?"

"Yeah. Wherever there's good fishing." He flicked his head toward his apartment. "Now come on in. You've got just four minutes left."

He meant, obviously, to explain why Mrs. Stelter thought I was the building's new prostitute. I owed him that much, if only to give him my own version before he heard something ten times worse from Mrs. Stelter.

Four minutes wasn't a long time, so I followed him into his living room, watched him set the food on a side table near the TV, and launched straight into it, starting with the basics – that Mrs. Stelter had caught the tail end of me kissing the guy who lived on the same floor.

But instead of laughing it off, Walt looked genuinely puzzled. "You mean the second penthouse?"

I nodded. "Exactly."

He shook his head. "But that can't be right."

"Why not?"

He frowned. "Because nobody lives there."

35

He's Not Nobody