Then: "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Forgive me for my past judgments of you."

"Nothing to forgive, they're understandable"

"You're the best friend Mike could have."

"That goes the same on this end."

Chapter Ten.

Sandra didn't call.

It was six o'clock and he'd been in his room for the past two hours with a paperback he'd read nearly all the way through but hadn't absorbed more than a couple sentences of. If one were to ask him what the book was about, he probably couldn't have explained it, even if he looked at the cover again and reread the back.

He felt tired and groggy. It was hot and the place was stuffy and dry, and every once in a while he closed his eyes in hopes of sleeping through the worst of it. Each time he began drifting off, an image or thought popped into his head and jolted him back to the hot, stuffy dryness, and the fact that she hadn't called him.

Maybe she saw through you. Maybe you let something slip that you didn't realize, and she figured out who you really are. Or maybe she just came to the conclusion that you're a fucking loser who's too goddamn old for her anyway, and she discovered that she'd be doing nothing with you other than wasting her time.

He opened the book, read a sentence, didn't pay attention, and closed it up again.

The girl has a life, you know. Her world does not revolve around you. Maybe she got busy, wrapped up with something or othera"or maybe she lost your number or couldn't read your sloppy handwriting. The fact is she's thrilled to be out and about, to see a new part of the world, and there's nothing to indicate that she doesn't like you. So just let it go; she'll call. And if she doesn't, then oh well.

It was true and he knew it. He also knew that he shouldn't be giving a damn any which way, given his current situation, with everything that was going on. It was messing with his head, and he couldn't allow that. He didn't allow that. He never allowed that.

"Hell with it," he said, tossing the book aside.

He stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The heat began getting the better of him, and slowly his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, until they finally closed.

It was dark when he woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He fumbled for the bedside lamp, switched it on, hopped off the bed and snatched the phone from its charger.

"What's going on, man?" It was Clark.

Dempster looked at the 9:05 glowing on the clock. Had he really been asleep for three hours? Shit. "I was sleeping," he said, and rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry, I'll let you go."

"I'm up now. What do you want?"

Clark was quiet for a couple seconds. Within the pause Dempster heard background commotion, people laughing, glasses clinking. "Jimmy and Evan and Ia"we're just hanging out, having a couple drinks."

"Didn't you do that last night?" He was still too tired to give his voice the strength he wanted.

"Weren't going to," Clark told him. "Just stopped for a quick one and then figured to give you a call, see if you'd like to join us."

"No."

"Look," Clark said, "none of us are gonna be best buds with you. We can all agree that's a given. Just thought it might be a good idea, y'know? Boost morale or some such thing."

"You thought it would be a good idea." He was waking up now.

"Well," Clark said, "you think it's a bad idea?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you wanna come hang out?"

Dempster thought about it a minute. He didn't really want to get to know these guys too well. He wasn't very fond of them in the first place, and the closer he got to them, he didn't want to invest more than necessary, didn't want more than a professional relationship with them.

While on the other hand, it might do all of them some good. Might ease some of the tension brewing between them, especially between him and Evan. It seemed it might be worth it, just for that alone. And hell, he had just slept three hoursa"he was going to be up for a while.

"All right," he said. "Where are you guys?"

2.

The bar was very busy. It was also very loud. In the weak light swarms of college kids, most of them frat boys or rejects of a different nature, staggered and raced about with beers in their hands and crossed eyes in their sockets. There were six pool tables, all of them occupied, two big-screen TVs, one showing a baseball game, the other a bad vintage Charlie Sheen movie. Pop music blared, though it wasn't loud enough to be clear and merely added to the cacophonous atmosphere. To the left was a small stage. On it, musical equipment sat with no band at the ready to play. The place was foggy with cigarette smoke. It smelled like stale beer.

Dempster sat, sipping a scotch and soda, listening to Clark and Jimmy, who had done most of the talking so far. It was clear that all three of them had already had more than they should have.

Clark shifted in his chair. For the second time in three minutes he pointed over to a sandy haired woman wearing a light blue tank top. "I gotta meet her," he said.

"You said that a couple minutes ago," Jimmy told him. "And all you've done since is had more beer and stared at her nervously."

"She's something," Clark said. "Exactly the kind of girl I go for."

"So are you gonna go say something to her," Evan asked, "or are you gonna sit there all night wishing and hoping?"

"Haven't decided yet." He smiled, took another swig of beer. "Man, she's something."

"So go talk to her," Jimmy said. "I mean, your dick ain't gonna suck itself."

Evan laughed. "Yeah, you should go and tell her just that."

Clark drank some more beer. Then his eyes bulged. "You see that?" He shifted again. "She just looked at me."

"She glanced casually in our general direction," Jimmy said. "I don't think that counts."

Dempster watched Clark sag sideways. He hoped and prayed that Gardner wasn't going to be getting in touch with them tomorrow to tell them it was time. They would have to postpone it if he did, and who knew how long it might be before things would be right again.

"This is the last time we're doing anything like this," he said. "No more partying until after the job."

The waitress came by to check on them. Dempster ordered four waters.

Jimmy finished off his beer, tapped the glass a couple of times on the table, and said, "Can I ask you something?"

Dempster shrugged. "Ask away."

"What was it like? I mean, inside?"

He laughed, and leaned back in his chair. "Not as nice as it is out here," he told him.

"No, really, I'm curious."

"Isn't that what killed the cat?"

"I just wanna know. That is, if you don't mind."

Dempster drained his scotch. "I guess I just don't really know what to say. It was kind of rough at first. You know, for the most part people suck and all of that; but actually, the place was pretty posh, all things considered. I had my own cell, a concrete bed, a sink, a small desk and a toilet all to myself. There was a day room where you could read or watch TV or play cards or board games with other inmates. There was a small though pathetic library, where I spent much of my time. I think I read everything they had in there at least once. There was an exercise yard with a basketball court anda"blah blah blah, I don't know what the hell to tell you. I'm much happier to be out." He knew it wasn't what Jimmy meant when he asked. He just didn't feel much like going there at the moment.

Still sagging, his left eye half-closed, Clark tapped Jimmy on the shoulder and said, "You don't think she was looking at me?"

"I promise you, she wasn't," Jimmy told him.

"Dammit, that's how it always is." He straightened up a little, looked over at the girl again. "Anytime I think, even for a second, something might be starting to go right, turns out I misunderstood, I assumed something I shouldn't have." He picked up his beer, which was empty, and set it back down. "Just once I'd like to find that it was for real, y'know? To know that something was going right, even if it was just for a short while. Even for a couple of minutes."

The water arrived.

Sandra entered Dempster's mind. It had seemed, when he saw her earlier in the day, there was no doubt whatsoever that she was going to call. That it was all they would both be thinking about until the time came. "Don't think I won't," she'd told him, and her tone had been sincere. He knew that much. He wondered what might have happened had he not left the cafe when he did. What if he'd stayed, and they did sit around all day talking, drinking cup after cup of coffee? Maybe they would have gone for that walk.

But he didn't stay, and she hadn't called. He'd left when he didn't want to and she didn't call him like she said she would. Something had to have come up. She wouldn't have just blown him off. Not Sandra, not just like that. It was clear as day, with the connection they had, that she wasn't going to just drop him.

The fact remained however. She hadn't called him. The fact remained that what he thought was his second chance was possibly gone forever, or maybe had never been a chance at all. Maybe he misunderstood, assumed something he shouldn't have. Maybe he was angry and just trying to avoid it.

He looked at Clark. "I think I know how you feel," he said.

"Never asked for much in life," Clark said, slouching, fishing out a cigarette. "Never had any kind of huge demands." He belched. "Just wanted to live my life, and wanted life to let me live it."

Dempster nodded. "It often seems like that's too much to ask, doesn't it? You know who Isaac Asimov is?"

"He's a science-fiction writer," Jimmy said.

"Was," Dempster corrected, then drank down a third of his water. "Asimov said: 'Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome'."

"I've noticed you like doing that," Evan said. "Flaunting the fact that you've read a lot of books."

Dempster looked at him. "And what have you done?"

"I've had a lot of sex," Evan told him.

"I could've had a lot of sex," Dempster said, "only I don't much go for the type they had in prison, so I opted to read instead."

"I bet you were an honor student, weren't you?"

Dempster looked down at the table, then at his water, and wished it were another scotch. "I might have been," he said, "had I ever bothered. As it is, I didn't even finish high school." He looked at them looking at him. Clark was sagging more.

"How do you like that?" Evan said. "The legendary Jack Dempster doesn't even have a high school diploma."

"How many people in this field do?" Dempster asked.

"I know I do," Evan said.

"And what good has it done you?"

Evan straightened warily and looked at all three of them, an uncertain smile wavering on his face. "What do you mean, what good has it done me?"

"I mean," Dempster said, "what good has it done you?"

Five seconds went by. Then ten. Fifteen. Then before Evan could conjure up a coherent response, a voice from the next table said, "Hey, gimme a cigarette."

The man was slightly pudgy, though well built, constructed like a large soft brick. His eyes were narrow. His lower lip was slack, displaying brown, crumbling teeth. He was in his late twenties or early thirties from the look of him. He sat with a friend not dissimilar in appearance, and his attention as well as his animosity was directed at Clark.

Drunk as could be, Clark blew a stream of smoke into the air, said, "No," and turned back to the table.

A brief pause. Then: "What an asshole." The guy rose from his chair. He was taller than expected. He approached the table, stumbling, then stood over Clark like a giant wobbly rock. "What the fuck did you say?"

Clark gave him a reproachful look, and blew a cloud of smoke into his face. "I said no." He reached for his empty beer then thought better of it, and returned his focus to the tall, menacing idiot. "Y'see, if you want a courtesy, a favor from a complete stranger, don't demand it. Ask. Demanding anything from someone makes them think you're a rude, spoiled idiot."

Dempster was impressed. It was a side of Clark he hadn't seen before. A drunken side, but a new side nonetheless.

"I'm gonna ask one more time," the man said, gritting his teeth. "Gimme a cigarette."

Clark looked him in the eye, drew in on his cigarette, said, "You didn't ask," and turned away.

In the short moment before the man reached down and grabbed Clark by the shirt and yanked him to his feet, Dempster saw that Clark was looking over at the girl in the blue tank top.

"You smug son of a bitch, I'm gonna smash your fucking head into the floor."

Dempster watched another attitude come over Clark. The cool was gone, as though it had never been.

Evan couldn't help laughing a little bit. Jimmy was entranced by the whole thing.