The Second Confesion

I nodded. I switched to Jimmy. “Why don't you take a stab at it? The way your mother's mind works makes it hard for her. What have you got to offer?” Jimmy's eyes still looked mean. They were straight at mine. “I think,” he said glumly, “that I was a boob to stumble in here like this.” “Okay. And?” “I think you've got us, damn you.” “And?” “I think we've got to tell you the truth. If we don't-” “Jimmy!” Mom gripped his arm. “Jimmy!” He ignored her. “If we don't you'll only think it's something worse. You brought my sister's name into this, insinuating she had a key to this apartment. I'd like to push that down your throat, and maybe I will some day, but I think we've got to tell you the truth, and I can't help it if it concerns her. She wrote him some letters-not the kind you might think-but anyhow my mother and I knew about them and we didn't want them around. So we came here to get them.” Mom let go of his arm and beamed at me. “That was it!” she said eagerly. “They weren't really bad letters, but they were-personal. You know?” If I had been Jimmy I would have strangled her. The way he had told it, at least it wasn't incredible, but her gasping at him when he said he was going to tell the truth, and then reacting that way when he went on to tell it, was enough to make you wonder how she ever got across a street. However, I met her beam with a deadpan. From the expression of Jimmy's eyes I doubted if another squeeze would produce more juice, and if not, it ought to be left that their truth was mine.

So my deadpan was replaced with a sympathetic grin.

“About how many letters?” I asked Jimmy, just curious.