Thinner(42)

Yes - reality. That was a lot closer to the heart of the matter. When you saw yourself being erased pound by pound, like a complicated equation being erased from a blackboard line by line and computation by computation, it did something to your sense of reality. Your own personal reality, reality in general.

He had been fat - not bulky, not a few pounds over weight, but downright pig-fat. Then he had been stout, then just about normal (if there really was such a thing the Three Stooges from the Glassman Clinic seemed to think there was, anyway), then thin. But now thinness was beginning to slip into a new state: scrawniness. What came after that? Emaciation, he supposed. And after that, something that still lingered just beyond the bounds of his imagination.

He was not seriously worried about being hauled away to the funny farm; such procedures took time. But the final conversation with Houston showed him clearly just how far things had gone, and how impossible it was that anyone was going to believe him - then or ever. He wanted to call Kirk Penschley - the urge was nearly insurmountable, even though he knew Kirk would call him when and if any of the three investigative agencies the firm employed had turned up something.

He called a New York number instead, paging to the back of his address book to find it. Richard Ginelli's name had bobbed uneasily up and down in his mind since the very beginning of this thing - now it was time to call him.

Just in case.

'Three Brothers,' the voice on the other end said. 'Specials tonight include veal marsala and our own version of fettuccine Alfredo.'

'My name is William Halleck, and I would like to speak to Mr Ginelli, if he's available.'

After a moment of considering silence, the voice said: 'Halleck.'

'Yes.'

The phone clunked down. Faintly Billy could hear pots and pans crashing and bashing together. Someone was swearing in Italian. Someone else was laughing. Like everything else in his life these days, it all seemed very far away.

At last the phone was picked up.

'William!' It occurred to Billy again that Ginelli Was the only person in the world who called him that. 'How are you doing, paisan?'

'I've lost some weight.'

'Well, that's good,' Ginelli said. 'You were too big, William, I gotta say that, too big. How much you lose?'

'Twenty pounds.'

'Hey! Congratulations! And your heart thanks you, too. Hard to lose weight, isn't it? Don't tell me, I know. Fucking calories stick right on there. Micks like you, they hang over the front of your belt. Dagos like me, you discover one day you're ripping out the seat of your pants every time you bend over to tie your shoes.'

'It actually wasn't hard at all.'

'Well, you come on in to the Brothers, William. I'm gonna fix you my own special. Chicken Neapolitan. It'll put all that weight back on in one meal.'

'I might just take you up on that,' Billy said, smiling a little. He could see himself in the mirror on his study wall, and there seemed to be too many teeth in his smile. Too many teeth, too close to the front of his mouth. He stopped smiling.

'Yeah, well, I really mean it. I miss you. It's been too long. And life's short, paisan. I mean, life is short, am I right?'

'Yeah, I guess it is.'

Ginelli's voice dropped a notch. 'I heard you had some trouble out there in Connecticut,' he said. He made Connecticut sound as if it was someplace in Greenland, Billy thought. 'I was sorry to hear it.'

'How did you hear that?' Billy said, frankly startled. There had been a squib about the accident in the Fairview Reporter -decorous, no names mentioned - and that was all. Nothing in the New York papers.

'I keep my ear to the ground,' Ginelli replied. Because keeping your ear to the ground is really what it's all about, Billy thought, and shivered.

'I have some problems with that,' Billy said now, picking his words carefully. 'They are of an ... extralegal nature. The woman -you know about the woman?'

'Yeah. I heard she was a Gyp.'

'A Gypsy, yes. She had a husband. He has ... made some trouble for me.'

'What's his name?'

'Lemke, I believe. I'm going to try to handle this myself, but I wondered ... if I can't . . .'

'Sure, sure, sure. You give me a call. Maybe I can do something, maybe I can't. Maybe I'll decide I don't want to. I mean, friends are always friends and business is always business, do you know what I mean?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Sometimes friends and business mix, but sometimes they don't, am I right?'

'Yes.'

'Is this guy trying to hit on you?'

Billy hesitated. 'I'd just as soon not say too much right now, Richard. It's pretty peculiar. But, yeah, he's hitting on me. He's hitting on me pretty hard.'

'Well, shit, William, we ought to talk now!'

The concern in Ginelli's voice was clear and immediate. Billy felt tears prick warmly at his eyelids and pushed the heel of his hand roughly up one cheek.

'I appreciate that - I really do. But I want to try to handle it myself, first. I'm not even entirely sure what I'd want you to do.'

'If you want to call, William, I'm around. Okay?'

'Okay. And thanks.' He hesitated. 'Tell me something, Richard - are you superstitious?'