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"Cops get worse names."
She was quiet a moment, then she said my name with a question mark beside it the way she always did when she was about to broach a difficult subject.
"Yes?" I said.
"Elrod Sykes called while you were in New Orleans. He wanted to apologize for coming to our house drunk."
"Okay."
"He wants to go to an AA meeting with you."
"All right, I'll talk to him about it."
She looked at the revolving shadows the window fan made on the wall.
"He's rented a big boat," she said. "He wants to go fishing out on the salt."
"When?"
"Day after tomorrow."
"What'd you tell him?"
"That I'd have to check with you."
"You don't think we should go?"
"He troubles me, Dave."
"Maybe the guy is psychic. That doesn't mean he's bad news."
"I have a strange feeling about him. Like he's going to do something to us."
"He's a practicing alcoholic, Boots. He's a sick man. How's he going to harm us?"
"I don't know. It's just the way I feel. I can't explain it."
"Do you think he's trying to manipulate me?"
"How do you mean?"
I raised up on one elbow and looked into her face. I tried to smile.
"I have an obligation to help other alcoholics," I said.
"Maybe it looks like Elrod's trying to pull some strings on me, that maybe instead of helping him I'll end up back on the dirty-boogie again."
"Let him find his own help, Dave."
"I think he's harmless."
"I should have listened to you. I shouldn't have invited them into the house."
"It's not good to do this, Boots. You're worrying about a problem that doesn't exist."
"He's too interested in you. There's a reason for it. I know it."
"I'll invite him to go to a meeting. We'll forget about the fishing trip."
