The girl from the News was reaching for her big mail-bag purse.

“Pick it up, drop it. When we found her, we thought maybe a semi had run over her. I mean you wouldn’t believe this was a girl’s face.”

“I don’t think you’re funny.”

“No, it isn’t funny at all. But then the guy said in his statement-”

The girl from the News was walking away from the table.

“He said, ‘This is what I get for playing Mr. Nice Guy and sharing my broad with my buddy.’ ”

He walked across Grand River to Dunleavy’s. Jerry Hunter was at the bar with a girl who was resting her arm on Jerry’s shoulder, close to him but acting bored. She took time to look Raymond Cruz over while he placed his doggie bag on the bar and ordered a bourbon.

Hunter said, “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“They have a new thing,” Raymond said. “They invite you to dinner. Then just before the check comes they get mad and walk out. Leave you with a forty-two-dollar tab.”

The girl with Hunter said, “Is he one, too? He’s kinda cute.”

Hunter said, “She’s trying to figure out what I do for a living.”

“If anything,” the girl said, moving slightly to the jukebox disco music. “Don’t tell me, okay?” She narrowed green-shadowed eyes as she moved with the beat. “If we were over at Lindell’s-who’s in town?- you might be ballplayers. Except they never wear ties. Nobody wears ties.” She stopped and gave Hunter a shrewd look. “Tie with a sportshirt, suitcoat doesn’t match the pants-you teach shop at some high school, right? And your buddy”-looking at Raymond Cruz again-“what’s your sign?”