He was very lucky. The blood had dripped onto one of the metal strips running the length of the truck, and had not fallen on the wooden floor of the body. It might have been difficult to remove a bloodstain from a wooden floor. Instead, he wiped the blood off the metal in as long as it took him to pass the wet cloth over it.
He rinsed the cloth out several times until it was clean. The water in the can showed hardly any discoloration, hardly any trace of red or even pink. He poured the water down the open drain near the hose attachment, and rinsed the can out several times.
He went back to the truck and put on the chains.
She was waiting for him outside the drugstore.
She spotted him as he turned the corner, and waved immediately and came running up to him.
"Hi," she said, and looped her arm through his. "You're late."
"I haven't got a watch," he said.
"Well, you're not too late, it's only about twenty to. Where were you?"
"Putting chains on my truck."
"Fine thing. Guy'd rather put chains on his truck than be with me."
"No, I'd rather be with you, Amelia."
"There are times, you know," she said, smiling, "when I think you have absolutely no sense of humor."
"None at all," he said, and returned her smile.
"So look at me," she said. I He looked at her.
"Well?"
"You changed your coat."
"This is my best coat. I only wear it on very special occasions. The collar is genuine fitch."
"What's fitch?"
"An animal."
"I know that, but-"
"You've never heard of rat fitch?"
"No."
"It's a close relative to rat fink. There are millions of rat finks in this city, but only very few rat fitches. One of them voluntarily donated his life to make a collar for my coat. Stunning, isn't it?"
"Stunning."
"Also, look." She unbuttoned the coat and held it open, her arms widespread. She was wearing a black skirt and a V-necked black sweater cut very low over her breasts. A string of tiny pearls circled her throat, startling white against her dark skin. "Very sexy number, huh?" she said.
"Very sexy."
"Also," she said, and winked, "black bra underneath. Men like black bras, huh?"
"Yes."
"Now, if you don't mind, I'll close the coat before I freeze everything I own, you don't mind, huh?" She closed the coat and buttoned it. "Brrrr, my hands are freezing." She put her left hand into the pocket of her coat, and then entwined the fingers of her right hand in his, and put both their hands into the pocket of his coat. "There," she said, "nice and cozy and warm, I can't stop talking, what the hell is it about you?"
"I'm a good listener," he said, "that's what it is."
"Yeah, how come?"
"In my house, I listen all the time."
"To who?"
"My mother."
"Mmm, mothers, don't talk about mothers. You should hear the lecture I got this afternoon."
"About what?"
"About you, what do you think?"
"Why?"
"Man, you de white man. You Mr. Charlie." Amelia giggled.
"Is that what Mr. Charlie is?"
"Well, sure. You Mr. Charlie, and you de ofay, and you sometimes just De Man, although De Man is also sometimes a plain old pusher, but he usually a white man, too, so I guess you synonymous, is that de word, man?"
"I don't know."
"It went on for hours, I thought she'd never stop."
"Is that why you couldn't make it at three-thirty?"
"That's why. She had my brother come over to talk to me. He's married and has two kids, and he drives a cab. So she called his garage and asked them to tell him to call his mother as soon as he checked in. He doesn't check in 'til about four, so I knew I'd be stuck there 'til at least a quarter after, his garage is on Twentieth, near the river. Anyway, he got to the house at twenty-five after, and I talked to him for about three seconds flat and then left."
"What'd he say?"
"He said, 'Amelia, you are out of your head.'"
"What did you say?"
"I said, 'Louis, go to hell.'"
"And then what?"
"He said if he caught us together he would cut off your balls."
"Will he really?"
"Louis is a fat happy cab driver who wouldn't know where to find your balls because he hasn't had any of his own since the day he married Mercedes in 1953, do you mind my talking this way?"
"What way?"
"Well, I swear a lot, I guess. Although, actually, I'm only repeating what my brother said. Anyway, I told him to go to hell again, and I walked out."
"I don't mind," Roger said.
"What do you mean?"
"Your swearing a lot." He paused. "We never swear in our house. My mother's pretty strict about that."
"Well, the hell with mothers, huh?" she said.
He felt a momentary spark of anger, and then he simply nodded. "What would you like to do?" he asked.
"Walk a little. I love snow. It makes me stand out."
"You stand out anyway," he said.
"Do I?"
"Yes."
"You say very sweet things, sweet-talker. Mother warned me. Oops, excuse me, we're not supposed to talk about mothers."
"Where would you like to walk?"
"Any place, who cares?"
