I found a big, ragged hole in the hallway wall and a note on the kitchen table. The note read: Friend Sam, We grab what happiness we can, when we can, where we can. In this case I have no choice, thank God, but to go for the gusto, to wrap myself in Phyllis, and she in me. Old Art is pretty damned mad, and for good reason—if I'd been locked up in someone's wall for a year I'd be mad, too. So I can't blame him if he wants to get even. But that doesn't mean I have to stick around for it. Please don't come after me. You'll just get yourself in a hell of a mess, and there's really nothing at all you can do for me now—even if I wanted you to. You can use the Malibu. Phyllis and I have transportation to where we're going. The key's under the mat. Remember—let the engine idle fast a good three or four minutes in cold weather. Maybe I'll be back, Sam. Maybe I won't. If I have a moment, I'll give you a call.
