Ray made his voice sound just a trifle thick and slurred; to play this
convincingly he shouldn't seem cold sober. He said, "One for the road,
then. Look, I won't want you to buy back, won't let you. I'm a liquor
salesman, see, so any drink I buy anybody goes on the 'spense account.
Besides, I hate to drink alone. Hey, bartender, make it two up this
way."
"Okay," the man said. "Guess one more won't hurt me."
Ray pretended to look at his wrist watch. "One's about all I'll have
time for myself. Got to get in an all-night poker game and it's
starting about now. Say, my name's Ray Fleck--don't tell me yours
'cause I'm lousy on names and won't remember it anyway. I'll call you
Bill. You married, Bill?"
The man shook his head. And the bartender came with their drinks. Ray
paid him and left his wallet on top of the bar; he was going to need it
in a minute.
"Well, I am," he said. "Married, I mean. Got the prettiest, sweetest
little wife in town. And you know it worries me--with what's been
happening--to leave her all alone, in a building all by herself, while
I play all-night poker. But hell, a man's got to get out once in a
while, and I think this is my lucky night."
He was thinking: it could be; it could be, if this works.