Cody and Luigi lay
in bed after their love-making. Cody had
been right. The breadcrumbs did go
everywhere.
“Let’s do
something,” suggested Luigi. “You go
back to work tomorrow. But we have today
off.”
Cody didn’t
speak. He looked away from Luigi, waiting
for him to suggest something. Luigi
sighed inwardly.
“Let’s go and have
a decent coffee on Brunswick Street. And
something to eat.”
They
showered. Separately. Luigi was rather depressed by that. He wondered if things would ever be right
again between them.
It was a warm
autumn day. They sat outside on a table
at the café drinking their caffè lattes.
Cody said he wasn’t hungry but Luigi ordered bruschetta for himself.
Racking his brains
for something to say, he asked, “Do you think it’ll be all right at work?”
Cody
shrugged. “Dunno.” He waited a couple of seconds. “We’ll have to see. I do have the medical certificate. So they won’t sack me because of that. But I’ll have to have a story ready. The doctor didn’t say what I was sick with—”
“—They never do—”
“—but they will
ask. I have to have some plausible
excuse.”
“You were unconscious. Which is true. No one knew where you were. Which is true. If we don’t count the killer. And you were found by someone on the street—only
you don’t remember much—and taken to a doctor.
It’ll do for now. If there’s a
court case …. Well, we’ll worry about it
then.”
He took a bite of
his bruschetta.
Cody’s face turned
a whitish green and his forehead was all at once covered with beads of sweat,
“What?” asked
Luigi, alarmed.
Swallowing
convulsively, Cody strangled out a whisper, “It’s him.”
