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the same boat." Which was absolutely true, and the reason, he suddenly realized, that Jack Crisp had come into his mind in his moment of need. All at once, he liked Jack more than before.
    "In the same boat?" He could almost see Eve turn to look out the window, seaward, for a boat.
    "His family's away this month, too," Josh explained. "At the beach. He's commuting weekends, same as me."
    "Oh. Out here?"
    "No, the Jersey shore. Down around Barnegat Bay. I think it's an easier commute."
    "I wouldn't like the Jersey shore."
    "No, neither would I," Josh agreed, thinking, good, we're changing the subject.
    But she stayed with it a bit longer: "So you were two abandoned husbands, having a beer together."
    "That's it."
    "Are you going to do that all the time?"
    "No, I don't think so." Josh forced a laugh that he certainly hoped didn't sound forced. "He is kind of boring, to tell the truth."
    "So you'll probably be home at the regular time tomorrow."
    "Oh, sure," he said. "You know, if nothing unforeseen comes up."
     
8
     
    NOTHING UNFORESEEN KEPT him from going straight home on Wednesday. The something unforeseen was already in his living room, and it was Levrin. He had made himself a drink, with ice cubes and what looked like watered scotch, and he was seated in comfort on the sofa, leafing through the
New Yorker
that had been on the coffee table. He smiled pleasantly at Josh, lifted his glass in a toast, and said, "Hello."
    The pleasant smile and the easy pose did nothing to soften the sudden dread that gripped Josh's chest, squeezing it like a rubber ball. "What is it?" he asked, and imagined himself doing a U-turn, sprinting for the elevator. No, the stairs; no waiting for the elevator.
    "Oh, one or two things," Levrin said, and lifted his glass again. "Do you want to get yourself a drink first?"
    "Yes," Josh said, and went to the kitchen to fall apart, shaking and trembling all over, gripping the sink, staring out the window at the apartment building across West End Avenue. When at last his breathing calmed, and he felt he could let go of the sink without falling over, he got a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and carried it to the living room, where Levrin had the
New Yorker
open on his lap and was smiling at a cartoon. He looked up when Josh entered, and said, "I understand about half the cartoons in this magazine, and they are usually very good."
    "Yes, they are." Josh sat in
his
armchair and rattled the beer bottle onto the side table.
    "If I lived in America all the time, I would understand more of them."
    "Sure."
    Levrin tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, put his glass on the end table to his left, and reached for something on the floor. Josh tensed, and Levrin came up with a thick briefcase, black, scuffed. The snaps opened like pistol shots, and Josh kept thinking of Mr. Nimrin's description of this man. Levrin reached into the briefcase, and Josh stared at that forearm, forgetting to breathe. Levrin brought out a large self-closing plastic bag, about the right size for a head of lettuce, and Josh saw that in a way it did contain lettuce; money, cash, American bills. Levrin held it up for Josh to see, and then, as he put it on the sofa beside himself, said, "I'll ask you to hide this somewhere until you leave on Friday, and then put it under your pillow. It will be gone next week, when you return."
    "It looks like a lot of money," Josh said.
    "Ten thousand dollars," Levrin told him, smiling fondly at the package. "And the other thing," he said, as he focused on Josh again. "I don't want you to be startled, so I thought I should tell you."
    Startled, Josh said, "Yes?"
    "There will be some matériel, when you return next week. Temporarily stored here, but not for long."
    "Matériel?"
    "Yes, not a lot."
    "Bombs?" Josh was instantly sorry he'd asked.
    In any event, Levrin looked at him in surprise. "Of course not," he said. "We don't want you blown up or this apartment."
    "Good," Josh said.
    "The