The Inheritors [antikvár]

I was on my third cup of coffee when the telephone | began to ring. I let it ring. You wait three years for a : phone call, you ean wait thirty seconds more.I refilled the coffee cup. I checked the angle of the sun, | the window of the blonde who lived in the house just [ below me on the hill, the traffic on the Strip.The sun hadn't crested the hill, the blonde was still : asleep, her shades drawn, and the only car on the Strip f was a lonely police car crawling along. Then I reached ; for the phone."Good morning, Sam," I said.There was a moment's silence. I could hear the soundIof his harsh breathing in the phone. "How'd you know it was me?""This is a late-morning town," I said. "Nobody gets up j before ten o'clock.""I couldn't sleep," he grumbled. "I got in last night butIIdon't know it yet. I'm still on New York time.""I know.""What are you doin'?" he asked."Sitting. Drinking coffee.""How about coming over and having breakfast with me?""I don't eat breakfast, Sam. You know that.""Neither do I," he said. "You know that too. But I I can't sleep. And I want to talk to you.""I'm on the phone.""I spend half my life on the phone. I want to talk to your face." He paused. Again I could hear the harsh sound of his breath in the phone. "Tell you what. Come j on over and we'll take a ride someplace. I'll even risk my [ neck in that new car I read you got that goes two-twenty I miles per.""Why don't you just take a drive by yourself?"