Moe cradled the receiver between his neck and jaw and glimpsed the folds of hanging skin visible in the mirror over the chest of drawers. The weight loss was helping with the way his clothes fit and he was losing the paunch. His face, though, looked more drawn and haggard.

The phone rang again and again. This time he left a message.

“Hi honey. It’s your dad. I really need to hear your voice. Call me when you get this. Okay baby. Talk to you latter…Bye-bye.”

The tortoiseshell kitten, tucked away in the fold of his arm, squinted up at him with barely visible green eyes. He moved her gently to his chest and hung up the phone.

“I’m going to call you Patch,” he decided, rubbing the bridge between her eyes.

She purred rhythmically against his chest.

Moe fished the remote control from beneath the down pillows he’d bought with the bank job money. He’d bought them and a down comforter…and a pair of Veneti suede loafers he’d been eying at the thrift store. They were still in the shoe box, practically brand new, but a half size too small.

They’d stretch out, he told himself.

He lit a cigarette and ran through the cable channels. He settled on Fox.

It was almost 2 pm. Cops would be on soon.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

She wiped the crumbs of Triscuit with Roquefort crumbles from her mouth. Still the cracker stuck in her throat. She washed it down with a flute of Zinfandel.

“Well, what’d he say?”

“Why do you get those?”

“What?…”

He gagged and spit into the napkin. “Please don’t get these anymore. They’re as dry as the salt flats.”

“Triscuits?” She asked incredulously. “I like them.”

“Then you like cardboard…and that’s your business. But please don’t serve it to me.”

“They’re good for you.”

“Lonna, please! Do I need to do the shopping?…”

“That’ll be the day,” she said and immediately regretted it. “Sorry. I’ll get Ritz or club crackers from now on.”

“They don’t have to be buttery…I like melba toast too.”

She wanted to point out that melba toast was also dry, but thought better of it.

“So what’d he say?”

“Who?…Moe?”

“Yes.”

“He hasn’t got in touch with her.”

She opened the refrigerator. “That’s weird isn’t it?”

Jay sighed. “Not really. They’re practically estranged.”

Lonna filled her flute with Zinfandel and offered him another.

“Uhn-uh” he said.

“That’s so sad. I remember she adored him as a little girl.”

He winced as the ever present ache in his temples amplified…Moe had driven her away. He’d watched it with his own eyes.

“Jay?…”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Where?…”

“To Cincinnati. And Lexington.”

“Lonna…”

“That’s it, Jay. I’m going. No negotiation.”

She regarded his knitted brow. A flicker of relief flashed in his eyes.

Her heart sank.

“What about your class?” he asked.

“I’ll handle it.”

He picked at the imaginary lent on his golf shirt.

“Then I assume you’re going to the market soon?”

“And you’d be right.”
“When you do, will you stop by the cigar shoppe for me?”

“Of course,” she said.