“My husband's asleep,” she said softly, “He's the one who ordered the food. Come in, but please be quiet. I don't want to wake him up.”
Moving carefully, Owen entered the house, sighing in relief at the feel of the air-conditioning, comfortably pleasant on his skin. As he walked through the family room, a big-screen TV was showing a baseball game. On a couch, a fat man in a White Sox t-shirt was sitting, head slumped back, snores whistling from his slack mouth. He was unshaven, and a litter of beer cans sat on the table in front of him. He followed the woman into the kitchen, where she turned abruptly, frowning.
“His wallet's in his pants, and I'm not going to wake the fat slob up,” she said, her deep voice harsh with dislike. “Come into my office and I'll write you a check.”
Owen follo
