“The economy’s not my fault.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything your fault? You’re the one who wanted the kid.”

This last seems to get her in a way that his presence, the physical aggression, didn’t. She turns away, out of arm’s reach now, and busies herself behind the bar.

“Dammit, Pauline.”

Max and Ernest don’t notice the slight variation in her name. Adam does. But then, he has known her real name all along.

Her voice gets harder, although not louder. “Get out, Gregg. Get out or I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

And he does. Wuss. How did such a pansy ever land a woman like her? But Adam knows that she landed him. She just let him think he was in charge all these years. Cast, hook, reel.

The question remains why she wanted him in the first place.

Because the kitchen closes before the bar does, Adam and Polly leave about the same time. He’s still in the motel across the road, while she has to walk about six blocks into town. Hard to imagine a safer place than Belleville. In the early days, he asked to walk her home and she always said no. Since he started sleeping with Cath he’s pretty sure Polly wants him to ask again. He doesn’t.

But Cath’s not there tonight. Had to go see her sister up in Dover.

“You sure he’s gone?”

“No,” she says. “But he doesn’t scare me.”

“I don’t think you should walk home alone.”

“He’s a coward, don’t worry.”

“That’s why I do worry. No one’s more dangerous than a coward.”

They walk single file along the macadam that borders the old highway, then turn onto the main street. Called Main Street. Not much imagination in Belleville.

She must be thinking the same thing. “Always Main Street. Never Primary Street, for example.”

“Central Avenue sometimes. And in the UK, they call it the High Street.”

“You’ve traveled a lot.” Statement, not a question.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve hardly been anywhere.”

“Most people’s lives don’t allow them the time to travel, really travel. If you’re going to go places and get to know them, you need to take three, four weeks. Maybe six. I’m lucky to be able to do it that way.”

“Because your work is seasonal.”

Had he told her that? Maybe the day they went to the auction? Why does she make it sound as if she doesn’t quite believe him?

“It can be.”

“You make enough to travel, being a line cook?”

She knows he’s not telling her the full story. But all he says is, “You’d be surprised.”

“I bet I would.” Sultry, suggestive, four ordinary words taut with meaning. Maybe tonight— Gregg steps out of the shadows ahead. He has a gun. The stupid fucker.

“Maybe I can make you do what I say, Pauline.”

“Dude—” That’s Adam. He’s more scared than he wants to be, but a guy this stupid, he’s likely to fire the gun by accident. It’s bizarre the image that comes to him, Polly in his arms, eyes unfocused, her face vacant with shock.

“Stay out of this. It’s not your business. Even if you’re fucking her, it’s not your business.”

She sighs, calmer than both men.

“Oh, Gregg. You can’t keep a gun on me 24/7. I’ll be gone again the first minute I can. And this time, I’ll do a better job hiding.”

Adam does wonder how the private detective, the woman, found her. Polly’s getting paid cash by the bar, doesn’t have credit cards or a phone. Utilities on her apartment are probably paid by the landlord.

“Why, Pauline? Why?” Gregg’s voice is whiny.

“I’m done, Gregg. Sorry, but I’m done. Let it go, let bygones be bygones. You’ve got your mom. You’ll be okay. Jani will be okay, too. Eventually.”

He takes a step forward and Adam instinctively shoves him, knocking him back over a bramble bush. Gregg still doesn’t drop the gun, though, not until Adam stomps on his hand. Gregg screams, but not many people live along the old Main Street, so the scream attracts no attention. Polly picks up the gun, but Adam doesn’t stop stomping on the guy’s hand until he hears the crunch of bone. Probably would have happened sooner if he wasn’t wearing the rubber clogs he prefers for kitchen work.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Polly says, but her eyes are feverish. She loves it.

Adam takes the gun from her and tosses it into the sewer, and they listen to it clattering down, making its way toward the bay, then on to the ocean.

“What about the money, Polly?” Gregg asks, getting to his feet, left hand cradling the damaged right one. If he has a stick shift, he’ll have a hard time driving home. But a guy like this doesn’t drive a stick shift. Probably doesn’t know how.

“What money?”

“I know what you did with the insurance check.”

This pricks Adam’s interest.

“Nothing illegal.”

“Forgery’s illegal.”

“I didn’t forge it. Not my fault you’ll sign anything I put in front of you during a football game.”

“That check was made out to both of us.”