The staked Goat

long?”
    He caught me off-balance. ”No. She died.”
    ”Oh, John, I’m sorry...”
    ”Some time ago.”
    ”It’s just that you’re so young, I never—”
    ”Dale,” I said, ”skip it. No offense meant, no offense taken. It was a natural enough question. I just didn’t... see it coming.”
    Dale bobbed his head. ”Here’s our exit.” No gusto left.
     
    Dale insisted on coming in with me because he was sure he knew the USAir customer service rep who would be on duty. He did, and got me the best seat on the plane, aisle for leg room, just forward of the wings for ride comfort and ease of exit.
    The service rep swung my bag onto the belt behind him while I crushed my ticket folder into my inside breast pocket. Dale and I walked toward the gate.
    I stopped and spoke. ”You know, there’s no sense in your waiting with me for the boarding call.”
    ”I know,” he said, then with a quick Groucho imitation, ”more’s the pity.”
    I laughed and so did he. I gave him a quick bear hug, and he returned it, slapping my back at a shoulder blade with the flat of his hand.
    ”Take care of Martha,” I said.
    ”We will.”
    We broke. He sort of waved. I waved back, turned, and walked away.
    The airport was virtually empty. At a newsstand, I found a Time magazine behind some ”Steel Curtain” and ”Love Ya, Steelers” T-shirts. I skimmed it absently at the gate until the flight attendant called us for boarding.
    The plane was proportionately as empty as the airport had been. We arrived later than expected at Washington’s National Airport. I picked up my Samsonite, grabbed a cab, and got to the Marriott Key Bridge by 9 P.M.
    I checked in and was shown by the elevator operator to my room. I bounced on the bed, then picked up the telephone. I called Nancy’s number in Boston.
    ”Hello?”
    ”Nancy, it’s John Cuddy.”
    ”Oh, John, I’m so sorry.”
    ”Yeah, I know.”
    ”No, please. I asked Drew Lynch to call his friend at District C and the friend went by the Coopers’ house every two hours. He’s the one who called in the fire. There’ll be a thorough investigation.”
    ”Thanks, Ms. DA.”
    A little moan on her end. ”You’re right. You told me in my apartment that they didn’t have any family?”
    ”Not that they mentioned. Jesse was in the marines, Second World War. Emily taught at some private school. There must be records somewhere.” I gave her George’s name for the funeral arrangements.
    ”Well, tomorrow I’ll also call a friend who’s a public administrator for Suffolk County. Do you know what—”
    ”A lawyer who administers estates of people without relatives?”
    ”Yes, basically. He’ll do everything necessary, assuming there’s no will around.”
    ”Probably no will.” I punched out a breath.
    ”You sound really beat.”
    ”Battered but unbowed.”
    ”Is there anything else I can do?”
    One frame of a happy, future home-movie flickered through my head. ”No, thanks. If you can just follow through on the Coopers personally, maybe postpone the funeral, I’ll be back tomorrow night or Tuesday. Oh, and keep the cops on Marco’s trail.”
    ”Please call me when you get back.”
    ”I will.”
    ”Bye, John.”
    ”Good-bye, Nancy.”
    I hung up, looked at the comatose TV and the predictable, bland wall-hangings. The view of the Potomac out of the window was postcard quality, but not an evening’s worth.
    I was tired but not sleepy. I hadn’t brought any running or exercise clothes, but their health club and pool would be closed by now anyway. Instead, I changed shirts, got a cab, and headed into Georgetown for some life. Or at least some noise.
    I left the cab at M and Wisconsin. I found a saloon that I think said ”Clyde’s” on it and had a hamburger plate with a couple of Beck’s drafts. Most of the life was coming from the Sunday Night Movie over one end of the bar. Unfortunately, most of the noise was coming from three assholes from Akron who asked the bartender every five minutes where the action was.
    I gritted my teeth and asked for one more Beck’s draft and the check. The bartender took the time to lift away my dinner plate and swab down the bar in front of me. He even replaced my cardboard coaster with a new one to accompany the next Beck’s in a fresh glass.
    The Akron contingent downed their drinks, one sucking on his ice and then spitting it back into the glass. They clumsily got on their coats and stumbled out, reinforcing each