"That's too much for me," Roger said.
"All right, I'll have this one," Fook said, and began pouring into the other glass.
"That's enough," Roger said.
"Have a little more. We're celebrating."
"What are we celebrating?"
Fook poured another finger of whiskey into Roger's glass and then carried it to him. He extended his own glass and said, "Here's to Mrs. Dougherty's loss, may the old bitch be uncovered."
"Uncovered?"
"By insurance." Fook winked, raised his glass to his lips, and took a healthy swallow of the bourbon. "Also, may this be only the first of a long line of losses to come. May some no-good thief sneak into the lady's basement tomorrow night and steal perhaps her washtub, and the next night her oil burner, and the next night her underwear hanging on a line down there. May all the crooks in this crumby city come to Mrs. Dougherty's basement night after night and pick it clean like a bunch of vultures going over her bones. May loss pile upon loss until the old bitch has nothing left but the clothes on her back, and then may some bold rapist climb through her window one night and do a job on the scrawny wretch, leaving her nary a nightgown to keep her warm. Amen," Fook said, and drained his glass. He poured it full again, almost to the brim. "You're not drinking, my friend," he said.
"I'm drinking," Roger answered, and sipped at the bourbon.
"An icebox," Fook said.
Roger said nothing.
"It strikes me as amusing that anybody would come into Mrs. Dougherty's basement and steal an icebox, I beg your pardon, a refrigerator, that has been sitting there for God knows how long gathering dust. It raises a great many questions which to me are both amusing and amazing," Fook said.
"Like what?"
"Like number one, how would anyone know the old bitch had an icebox, I beg your pardon a refrigerator, in the basement? How many times have you been in the basement of this building?"
"I've never been in the basement," Roger said.
"Exactly. I've lived in this crumby dump for six full years, and I've been down there only twice, once to put an old trunk of mine on a shelf and another time when Mother Dougherty fainted at the sight of a rat down there and screamed loud enough to wake the whole building, me included, who went down there to find the scrawny witch spreadeagled on the floor unconscious with her dress up round her skinny ass, a sight to make a man puke, have another drink."
"I haven't finished this one yet."
"So how would anyone know there was a refrigerator down there, that's number one. And if he did know about the refrigerator, then he also knew it was a vintage appliance, circa 1939 or '40, and worth perhaps ten dollars, if not less. Why would a man go to the trouble of stealing a decrepit wreck like that? Why, lifting the thing alone would be enough to give a man a hernia." Fook poured another drink and then said, "I'm talking about a normal man like myself. A man your size could lift it without batting an eyelash."
"Well, I don't know," Roger said, and shrugged.
"In any case," Fook said, "how would anyone know it was down there, number one - and number two, why would anyone want to steal a piece of garbage worth at most five or six dollars?"
"Maybe he had some need for it," Roger suggested.
"Like what?"
"I don't know," Roger said.
"What, whyever he did it, I'm glad he did it. I only wish he'd taken more while he was at it. Isn't it just like that old bitch, though, to go screaming to the cops immediately over a piece of junk like that old refrigerator? She's tying up the whole damn police force over a machine that was worth three or four bucks."
"Well, there were only two cops down there," Roger said.
"Those are the beat cops," Fook said. "In a burglary, they always precede the bulls. You wait and see. The bulls'll be here today asking questions and snooping around, wasting the taxpayers' time and money, and all for a lousy refrigerator that wouldn't bring two and a half bucks on the open market, have another drink."
"Thanks," Roger said, and extended his glass.
The knock on the door awakened him.
Fook had left at about a quarter to three, taking the remainder of the bourbon with him. Roger had drunk only the two drinks, but he wasn't used to hard whiskey, and he must have begun dozing shortly afterward. He wondered what time it was now. He couldn't have been asleep too long. He sat up in bed and looked around the room, dazed, and then blinked as the knock sounded again.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Police," the voice answered.
Police, he thought.
"Just a moment," he said.
It was probably about the refrigerator. Fook had said detectives would come around asking about the refrigerator. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to the door. It was unlocked. He twisted the knob and opened the door wide.
Two men were standing in the hallway. One was very tall, and the other was short. The tall one had red hair with a jagged white streak across the right temple.
"Mr. Broome?" the short one said.
"Yes?" Roger answered.
