CHAPTER 18The waitress pushed a glass across the counter. He raised it, and as he did his eyes met Jerry’s in the mirrored wall. He stared, shook his head like a man in a daze, and looked again. Then he put his glass down, turned around slowly, slid down off the stool and came toward us. I looked at Jerry. Her wide-open eyes were glued to his face, moving as he moved.
I slid over in the booth. “Sit down, Roger,” I said.
He put his hat on the table and sat down, looking across at Jerry. “If this were only some place else,” I thought. A less suitable site for a meeting of the sort I could hardly imagine.
“Look, Jerry,” he said at last, his voice grating like wind in the cornhusks. “I’m . . . I’m sorry about everything. I know it sounds phony, but I’d…like you to know I didn’t know what wa
