“Forget the umbrella offer,” Repetto said.
“Kidding,” Melbourne said with a smile. “Don’t rot.” At the base of the steps, the rain already spotting his jacket, he looked back and up at Repetto. “Really. Don’t rot.”
“That didn’t sound at all sincere,” Repetto said.
He stood at the open door, watching Melbourne until he’d crossed the street and lowered himself into his car.
Then he remembered the open den door, sniffed the air, and went back to extinguish his cigar propped in the ashtray.
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Copyright © 1996 by John Lutz
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