He had changed only a little in five years. He was a big man with a
broad, pleasant face and thick black hair. A deep dimple divided his
chin. The last time I'd seen him, he had been getting a little paunchy,
and there had been wrinkles developing in his neck and bags under his
eyes. But that had been from strain and worry, and he looked a lot
better now.
"You're looking well," I told him.
"What the hell do you want?" Grogan said quietly. "Why can't you leave
me alone? I don't want any trouble."
"Neither do I."
And suddenly I felt very awkward. What the hell _did_ I want? Just
exactly what had I expected to accomplish with this visit? I didn't
really know.
I cleared my throat. "I've got one question, Grogan. Maybe two. Then
I'll leave."
He looked at me.
"Do you still blame me for what happened in Memphis?" I asked.
Grogan shifted his position and gave a sort of half-laugh. "Langston,
I've never liked you, and I don't now. But I can't say that I blame you
for the Memphis mess--if I ever did. Now, what's your other question?"
"Telenosis," I said.