“I’ll be a-”

“Child of a dog. Right. So will I.”

“Well, it’s nuts,” I said. “In the first place the cat’s not worth any real money. Is he show quality?”

“Probably, but so what? You can’t breed him.”

“And he’s not a television star like Morris. He’s just a cat.”

“Just my cat,” she said. “Just an animal I happen to love.”

“You want a hankie?”

“What I want is to stop being an idiot. Shit, I can’t help it. Gimme the hankie. Where am I gonna get a quarter of a million bucks, Bern?”

“You could start by taking all your old deposit bottles back to the deli.”

“They add up, huh?”

“Little grains of water, little drops of sand. That’s another thing that’s crazy. Who would figure you could come up with that kind of money? Your apartment’s cozy, but Twenty-two Arbor Court isn’t the Charlemagne. Anyone bright enough to get in and out and lock up after himself-he really locked up after himself?”

“Swear to God.”

“Who has keys to your place?”

“Just you.”

“What about Randy Messinger?”

“She wouldn’t pull this kind of shit. And anyway the Fox lock is new since she and I were lovers. Remember when you installed it for me?”

“And you locked it when you left, and unlocked it when you came back.”

“Definitely.”

“You didn’t just turn the cylinder. The bar moved and everything.”

“Bernie, trust me. It was locked and I had to unlock it.”

“That rules out Randy.”

“She wouldn’t have done it.”

“No, but somebody could have copied her keys. Do I still have my set?” I went and checked, and I still had them. I turned, saw my attaché case propped up against the sofa. If I sold its contents for their full market value, I might have two-fifths of the price of a secondhand Burmese cat.

Oh, I thought.

“Take a couple of aspirin,” I said. “And if you want another drink, have it with hot water and sugar. You’ll sleep better.”