Blackburn didn't know whether to believe what Roy-Boy said about Heather. He sounded like he was telling the truth, but some people were good at that. And Heather didn't seem like the kind of woman who would screw over a lover. On the other hand, Dolores hadn't seemed like that kind either.
"Any other probing questions before you decide whether to poke holes in me with your car keys?" Roy-Boy asked.
"One," Blackburn said. "Why are you bugging me?"
Roy-Boy grinned. There were chocolate smears on his teeth. "Am I bugging you? That's not my intention. I just think we can help each other, like we did Wednesday. I take half, you take half. See, if we hit places together we'll have less chance of trouble, because we'll both be watching for it. And we could carry the big stuff. You see the advantages?"
"Yes."
Roy-Boy held out his hand. "Then it's a partnership."
"No. I can see the advantages, but I don't want them."
Roy-Boy lowered his hand. "Why not? Because you don't want to take 'things people use'? Man, people use everything. They just don't need all of it. If it'll make your moral code happy, then I promise we won't steal any insulin kits or dialysis machines. But a TV set ought to be fair game."
"My moral code doesn't have anything to do with it," Blackburn said. "The problem is that I'm leaving town." It wasn't really a lie. He hadn't been planning to leave, but he hadn't been planning to stay either.
Roy-Boy looked surprised. "How come?"
"I never stay anywhere more than a few months." That was most often because he had no choice, but Roy-Boy didn't need to know that. "And I've been here since August, so another week and I'm gone. By Christmas for sure."
"Where to?"
"Don't know yet."
Roy-Boy looked away and sighed. "Ain't that the way it goes. I find a partner with morals, and he's no sooner found than lost." He opened the door and got out, leaving the box of donuts on the seat. "No hard feelings, though, hey?"
Blackburn said nothing.
"You don't still want to kill me, do you?" Roy-Boy asked. His hand went into his sweatshirt pouch.
"No," Blackburn said.
Roy-Boy stooped and peered in at him. "You should grow your hair into a ponytail," he said. "All of the great statesman-philosophers had ponytails. Thomas Jefferson, for example, who philosophized about independence and freedom, and owned slaves. What a great world he created." Roy-Boy straightened. "Have a good trip, Musician, and enjoy the donuts. I'm gonna get some more for myself. See, I only have one testicle, so I have to eat twice as much as most men in order to manufacture enough jism for my needs." He turned and walked toward the donut shop.
Blackburn leaned over to pull the door shut, then wiped the fog from the windshield and watched Roy-Boy enter the shop. He still had the feeling that he should kill Roy-Boy, but he couldn't think of a good reason why. All Roy-Boy had done was pester him. That might have been enough to warrant death, had it cost Blackburn anything, but it had cost him nothing but a little time. And now he had a free box of donuts, which pushed Roy-Boy's behavior even further into a gray area.
He started the Duster. No matter what he felt, he would not kill someone for behavior that fell into a gray area. He required a clear reason. If he started killing people without such reasons, he would be in violation of his own ethics. It was bad enough that he had become a burglar. A man had to have his rules.
On the way home, he stopped at a convenience store and bought a can of Heet, which he poured into the Duster's tank. Then he drove to his apartment and carried the box of donuts inside. Heather was in the bathroom with the door shut.
When she emerged, Blackburn was lying on the bed wearing nothing but a donut. Heather stayed two more hours, then said that she had to get home to study for finals. Blackburn was going to drive her, but the Duster refused to start. So Heather took a cab. After she had gone, Blackburn realized that he didn't have her phone number or address. He might be able to find her at The Hoot again, but he wasn't sure that he should. He liked her a lot, and he knew what that could lead to.
Blackburn was still in Houston the next Friday evening, watching a three-story apartment building in Bellaire. He had decided to leave the city by Christmas, but he needed traveling money. He had also decided that he had to stop breaking into houses and apartments, even if it meant working in fast food again. If he found some worthwhile items tonight, this would be his last day as a burglar.
He had not returned to The Hoot to look for Heather, and she had not come by his apartment to look for him. That was all right. They'd had twelve good hours together, which was twelve more than he'd had with most people, and he had the sense to leave well enough alone. It didn't feel good, but good feelings had nothing to do with good sense.
The sun had set, and lights in some of the apartments had come on. Blackburn, sitting across the street in the Duster, noted the number of cars in the building's lot and the number of apartments that were lit. He compared these numbers to those he had counted at other times since midaftemoon, when he had started watching. He had been careful-sometimes driving by, sometimes parking a few blocks away and walking, and now parked under a broken streetlight-but he hadn't observed this building for two or three entire days, as was his habit. He had figured that some of the residents would have already left for Christmas vacations, and their apartments would be easy to spot. He had been right. Two apartments on the top floor were staying dark, as were three on the second floor, and one on the first. Two other apartments had lights that had been on since he'd started watching, and he didn't think anyone was home. He would wait a few more hours to be sure. He could turn on the radio now and then to keep from getting bored.
He was listening to a ZZ Top song when the back of his neck tingled. He looked around and saw a man standing under a streetlight in front of the apartment building. The man was wearing a black sweatsuit, and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He was pointing at Blackburn and waggling his thumb. It was Roy-Boy.
Blackburn turned off the radio. He gave Roy-Boy a violent sidearm wave, trying to tell him to go away. But Roy-Boy stayed put, still pointing. Someone would drive by and notice him before long. Blackburn changed his wave to a "come here" gesture, then unzipped his coat and reached inside. He opened the Velcro flap over the Python's pouch.
Roy-Boy jogged across the street, his ponytail bouncing. He had put his hands into his sweatshirt pouch, so Blackburn had to take his own hand out of his coat to let him into the car. The smell of deodorant soap was even stronger than before. Blackburn wondered what Roy-Boy was trying to cover up.
"Evening, Musician," Roy-Boy said. "Happy Friday the thirteenth."
"I was here first," Blackburn said.
Roy-Boy shook his head. "I've been watching that building since last Saturday. It's mine." He grinned. His teeth looked as if they were still stained with chocolate creme from the week before. "Unless you want to share. Two of the apartments on the top floor are rented by college students who've taken off for winter break. I've heard their stereos, and they sound expensive. They probably have VCRs and Sony Trinitrons too. We could clean 'em both in fifteen minutes, hit my fence in the morning, and be done."
"I don't use fences," Blackburn said. "They're crooks. And I already told you I'm not interested in teamwork. If you've been planning on this place for a week, you can have it. I'll leave."
Roy-Boy gave his gruntlike chuckle. "But don't you see, Musician? That won't work now. If you take off with nothing, I'll be afraid that you'll call the cops on me. So in self-defense, I'll make a call of my own after I've done the job. I'll describe you and your car, and when the cops ask the neighbors, some of them'll remember seeing you hanging around. And we've got the same situation in reverse if you stay and I go. One or both of us gets screwed. You know where that leaves us?"