"You could write "Donnell Lewis' and some big numbers on one of these, you must've thought of that. But first you have to get him to transfer enough money into the account to make it worthwhile, huh? And you haven't figured out how to work that."

Donnell said, "How much you want?"

"Twenty-five," Chris said, "nothing for you, no commission on this one.

And if Woody stops payment, I put the bomb back in the pool."

FREAKYDEAKY

"Gonna take the man for all you can get."

"Why not? Everybody else is."

In that big dim library Greta was saying to Woody, "You're trying to be nice to me now, because of what you did." He was making her nervous.

Telling her, Sit here. No, sit there, it's more comfortable. What could he get her, another drink? Did she want to watch a movie? Did she like Busby Berkeley? Ever see his banana number? But he didn't know how to put on the video cassette, and when he tried calling Donnell on the phone there was no answer.

Greta said, "Would you sit still so I can talk to you?

That other time you hardly moved. Would you wipe your mouth, please?

Doesn't that bother you? Look at your robe, it's a mess." He seemed to be listening now, but it was hard to tell. His face was like a road map, all the red and blue lines in it. If that liver spot on his cheek was Little Rock, there was U.S. 40 going over to West Memphis. The Mississippi came down his nose full of tributaries and drainage canals, curved around O.K. Bend at his mouth and went on down to the Louisiana line. Did he like being the way he was?

"Remember at the Seesaw audition, right after I tried out Mark had me sit with him? You were in the row behind us. I felt you touch my hair a couple times. I should've realized what the deal was, but I was busy listening to Mark talking to the director, being smart. That girl with the little plastic derby finished her number, she did "Little Things' and the director goes, "She must get a lot of love at home to have the confidence to come here." That was okay; the girl really wasn't very good. But Mark said nasty things like "She ought to have her vocal cords removed," and I remember you laughing, thinking it was funny. You and Mark had no feeling for the person, what it's like to get up there with your legs shaking, trying to remember the words… That one girl did "The Sweetest Sounds I've Ever Heard' and Mark goes, "Throwing up'd be a sweeter sound than that."

Trying to be funny, but everything he said was mean. I stayed and listened 'cause I wanted to play Gittel so bad, not knowing the deal was I'd have to play with you. Nobody asked me, okay, if I did, if I agreed to be humiliated, how much would I charge? See, you just went ahead, like buying something without asking the price. Well, now I'm gonna tell you what it is." s went in the pool in his white briefs, dove straight down to the bottom, saw only one wire connected to the clock and made sure of it, a wire that ran to the dry-cell battery. He went up for a breath, dove again, removed the blasting cap from the dynamite and this time pushed off the bottom with the five sticks taped together, holding them over his head as he surfaced. Donnell was no help. He stayed at the shallow end, inside the doorway to the sunroom. On his third dive, Chris brought up the clock and the battery and placed them next to the dynamite on the tiled edge of the pool. Donnell approached as Chris swam over with the black athletic bag, swung it at him and let go, and Donnell jumped back as he caught the bag and dropped it, quick.

"Man, you get me all wet."

Chris pulled himself out of the pool. He picked up the bag, held it open in the light from the windows and got a surprise. Inside were a pair of pliers, a short coil of copper wire and several clothespins.

Maybe left by mistake-the guy forgot the stuff was in there. Or it was a hurry-up job.

Maybe the guy had to work in the dark. It was all evidence and Chris knew he should take it with him. Or put it in a safe place-he liked that better-and tell Donnell to keep his hands off, don't go near it.

Scare him. He looked around the pool house. Maybe in the library; there were a lot of cabinets in there. And pick it up later on, if he had to.

Donnell said, "It's mean-looking shit, that dynamite."

He put his hands on his knees for a closer study.

"The clock, hey, only got one hand on it."

"The hour hand," Chris said.

"You see the hole punched right next to the 'eleven'? There was a screw in there. Here, it's on the end of the wire that goes to the blasting cap. This wire connects the clock to the battery, and this other one goes from the battery to the blasting cap.

You see how it works? The hour hand comes around, touches the screw set for eleven o'clock, the circuit is closed and the dynamite blows.

Only the screw came out 'cause somebody did a half-assed job putting it together. It's simpler if you use the old-fashioned kind of alarm clock with the bell on top, you don't need the screw. You run your wires, one from the bell, the other from the hammer, the dinger, set the alarm and when it rings, that's it. You're probably lucky they didn't use that kind. The screw wasn't set in tight enough. You threw the bag, it hit the diving board and that's when it probably came out."

Chris picked up the taped sticks of dynamite and placed them in the bag.

"Let me have a towel, okay? I'll get dressed and we'll put this somewhere."

Donnell, hands on his knees, began to straighten with a thoughtful kind of frown, his mind working.

"Man, you knew it, didn't you? You look at this shit laying on the bottom, you knew it wasn't gonna go off. You run the price up on me with nothing to worry about."

Chris said, "That's why people like me like to get hired by people like you." s kept glancing at her, waiting, until finally he said, "Well? What happened?"

Greta said, "Have you ever noticed, the corners of his mouth are always sticky? He opens his mouth and you can see, it's like old saliva stuck there. I kept thinking about that time he kissed me."

"Not the other?"

"Well, both, but I was looking at his mouth. He never wipes it.

Anyway, I told him I wanted a hundred thousand."

"You did?"

"What's the difference? Whatever I ask for, I'd just be picking it out of the air."

"What'd he say?"

"You won't believe this. He asked me to marry him."

Chris looked at her and the Cadillac jumped lanes and he had to get straightened out before he said, "Come on."

"I'm not kidding. I said, "Look, let's just settle this and I'll leave. There's no way in the world I'd ever marry you."

" "Yeah?"

"And then he tells me how he's worth a hundred million dollars and we'd share it, a hundred million. " "Jesus Christ."

"I said, No, I wouldn't. He said, Think about it."

"Yeah?"

"That's all."

"What do you mean, that's all? Are you thinking about it?"

"Of course not. He said we should get to know each other before I decide."

"Jesus Christ."

"And if I'd rather have a hundred thousand than a hundred million he'd give it to me."

"He said that?"

"Well, not in so many words. It took him a while."

Chris turned east on Eight Mile and for several moments had to concentrate on the traffic. Greta was silent.

"What're you doing, thinking about it?"

"No, I'm not thinking about it."

"What're you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything, I'm sitting here."

"What about the settlement?"

"I go back, tell him I've thought about it… I guess, and then he gives it to me."

"You mean you're gonna think about it?"

"No, but I have to tell him I did."

"Why? Just tell him you want the hundred thousand."

"I feel sorry for him."