"You're already chasing four different names," Dean said.
Fred began to pace the room, patting the cat as he walked back and forth. "Think of the bright side. We're only six days behind him, maybe less."
"He can go anywhere in the world in six days, especially if he has a couple of a million dollars." Dean rose to get another beer. "Just watch the phone bill. It was nearly a hundred bucks and that was just through last week!" He opened the refrigerator but there was no more beer-only a lot of empty cans scattered around the room. Dean felt more than just a little fuzzy and decided to call it a night. As he started up the stairs, the phone rang.
It was Cynthia Byrne. After apologizing for the late hour, she again thanked him for a great day. "The most fun I've had since my six-year-old Christmas," he answered. Then, in a fit of honesty, he apologized for having put away a bit too much booze after he dropped her off.
"You're not drinking those awful manhattans are you?"
"No. Only beer."
"How much have you put away?" she asked. He could hear the smile in her voice.
"Some. Quite a bit, actually." He paused. "A lot-at least too much."
"You're crocked?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Only because you can't pronounce the words?"
"That too. It's not a frequent occurrence."
"Does this make us even?"
"Nope. I'm still dressed." He apologized immediately. "Sorry, that was tacky."
He couldn't tell from the tone of her response if she was offended. "I'm not sure you would have said that if you were fully sober."
"You're probably right. Sorry."
"I'd guess you're sort of drunk." She paused. "Why are you drinking?"
"I'm not sure. I think it has something to do with you."
She laughed. "You're impossible."
"That too." Then he asked, "Do you know the names of kids next door to you?"
"Sure. Mark and Joni. Why?"
"Nothing. No reason."
"Is that important?"
"Yes."
"Why?" When he didn't at first answer, she asked, cautiously, "Does it have something to do with Jeff?"
"No!"
"Than why?"
"Because I don't know the names of the kids next door to me, that's why."
"You are impossible and very sort of drunk."
"Drunk is a relative term."
"You want me out of your life." It was more of a statement than a question.
"God, no!"
"You want me in your life?" Silence. "I don't think I want to discuss this with a sort-of-drunk." She laughed, but ended the conversation
It was the closest they'd ever come to an honest discussion.