have a memory like an elephant."

"Did Helen say that?"

"Yes." The lie didn't cost me anything, noteven a pang of conscience.

"At least she had some respect for her old man,eh?"

"A good deal."

He breathed with enormous relief. It wouldpass, as everything passes when a man is drinking seriously to kill awareness.But for the moment he was feeling good. He believed his daughter had conceded apoint in their bitter life-long struggle.

"Luke was born in nineteen-oh-threeon Spring Street," he said with great care, "in thetwenty-one-hundred block, way out on the south side—two blocks over from whereI lived when I was a kid. I knew him in grade school. He was the kind of a kidwho saved up his paper-route money to buy a Valentine for everybody in hisclass. He actually did that. The principal used to take him around to thevarious rooms to show off his mental arithmetic. He did have a good head on hisshoulders, I'll give him that. He skipped two grades. He was a corner.

"Old man Deloney was a cementfinisher, and cement started to come in strong for construction after the WorldWar. Luke bought himself a mixer with money he'd saved and went into businessfor himself. He did real well in the twenties. At his peak he had over fivehundred men working for him all over the state. Even the depression didn'tcramp his style. He was a wheeler and a dealer as well as a builder. The onlythings going up in those days were public works, so he went out in a big wayfor the federal and state contracts. He married Senator Osborne's daughter, andthat didn't do him any harm, either."

"I hear Mrs. Deloney's stillalive."

"Sure she is. She lives in the housethe Senator built in nineteen-oh-one on Glenview Avenue on the north side.Number one-oh-three, I think." He was straining to live up to hisencyclopedic reputation.

I made a mental note of the address.Preceded by clinking, Bert Haggerty came into the room with ice and water andglasses on a tin tray. I cleared a space on the desk and he set the tray down.It had originally belonged to the Bridgeton Inn.

"You took long enough," Hoffman saidoffhandedly.

Haggerty stiffened. His eyes seemed to regroup themselvesmore closely at the sides of his nose.

"Don't talk to me like that, Earl. I'm not aservant."

"If you don't like it you know what you cando."

"I realize you're tight, but there's alimit—"

"Who's tight? I'm not tight."

"You've been drinking for twenty-fourhours."

"So what? A man has a right to drown his sorrows.But my brain is as clear as a bell. Ask Mr. Arthur here. Mr. Archer."

Haggerty laughed, mirthlessly, falsetto.It was a very queer sound, and I tried to cover it over with a broad flourish:

"The Lieutenant's been filling me inon some ancient history. He has a memory like an elephant."

But Hoffman wasn't feeling good any more.He rose cumbrously and advanced on Haggerty and me. One of his eyes looked ateach of us. I felt like a man in a cage with a sick bear and his keeper.

"What's funny, Bert? You think mysorrow is funny, is that it? She wouldn't be dead if you were man enough tokeep her at home. Why didn't you bring her home from Reno with you?"

"You can't blame me foreverything," Haggerty said a little wildly. "I got along with herbetter than you did. If she hadn't had a father-fixation—"

"Don't give me that, you lousyintellectual. Ineffectual. Ineffectual intellectual. You're not the only onethat can use fourbit words. And stop calling me Earl. We're not related. Wenever would have been if I had any say in the matter. We're not even relatedand you come into my house spying on my personal habits. What are you, an oldwoman?"

Haggerty was speechless. He looked at me helplessly.

"I'll break your neck," his father-in-lawsaid.

I stepped between them. "Let's have no violence,Lieutenant. It wouldn't look good on the blotter."

"The little pipsqueak accused me. He said I'mdrunk. You tell him he's mistaken. Make him apologize."

I turned to Haggerty, closing one eye."Lieutenant Hoffman is sober, Bert. He can carry his liquor. Now youbetter get out of here before something happens."

He was glad to. I followed him out into the hall.

"This is the third or fourth time," he saidin a low voice. "I didn't mean to set him off again."

"Let him cool for a bit. I'll sit with him. I'dlike to talk to you afterward."

"I'll wait outside in my car."

I went back into the bear cage. Hoffman was sitting onthe edge of the couch with his head supported by his hands.

"Everything's gone to hell in ahand-car," he said. "That pussy willow of a Bert Haggerty gets undermy skin. I dunno what he thinks he's sucking around for." His moodchanged. "You haven't deserted me, anyway. Go ahead, make yourself adrink."

I manufactured a light highball andbrought it back to the couch. I didn't offer Hoffman any. In wine was truth,perhaps, but in whisky, the way Hoffman sluiced it down, was an army ofimaginary rats climbing your legs.

"You were telling me about LukeDeloney and how he grew."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009