Chapter Seven
The pool hall was in full swing when Becky arrived shortly before eight. Drunken laughter spilled into the street like a surge of dark sludge. She parked well away from the front door, not wanting her truck bashed by a liquored-up redneck trying to race home before his old lady threw his dinner to the coon-hounds.
The way to Danny’s apartment was through an alley which ran along side the pool hall. It was dark now, and Becky edged carefully past overflowing trash cans toward a light that shone weakly above the door leading to the pool hall’s kitchen. There was a fire-escape stairway which angled up to Danny’s apartment on the second floor. He heard her coming and his door opened as she stepped onto the landing.
“Come on in,” he said testily. “I’ve only got a few minutes;
