She discussed with Donnell various lines of investigation, how much money they would need - a lot! - and tried again to convince him to return to Shadows.
‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ he said. ‘But I know that’s not the way.’ He had just taken a shower, and with his hair sleeked back, his sunglasses, he looked alert and foxy, every jut of his features pointed toward some dangerous enterprise: a small-time hood plotting a big score. ‘Maybe New Orleans,’ he said. ‘Not as much problem getting money there. Libraries, Tulane.’
She marvelled at the changes in him. There was such an air of purpose and calculation about his actions, it was as if he had thrown off a cloak of insecure behaviors and revealed himself to have been purposeful and calculating all along. He was, she knew, still uncertain about a great many things, but he seemed confident they would work themselves out and she no longer felt it necessary to soothe his doubts and fears. In fact, when Richmond did not return at noon, he undertook to soothe hers by leading her on a tour of the cabin, describing to her the things she could not see: the weird spindly structures fraying at the edges of spiderwebs, insect eggs joined together and buried in a crack like crystals in a rock, a fantastic landscape of refracted light which he saw within a single facet, of a dead fly’s compound eye. Then he led her outdoors and described what Magnusson believed to be the geomagnetic field.
‘I can see it better at night,’ he said. ‘Then it’s not as translucent, more milky white, like the coil of a huge snake lying across the sky, fading, then reappearing in a new configuration.’ He scuffed his foot against the cabin steps. ‘I can always tell how it’ll look before I look. Magnusson says that’s because the bacteria are interpreting its movements, conveying the knowledge as intuition.’ He took off his sunglasses and looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘Human fields are different. Cages of white fire flickering in and out. Each bar a fiery arc. When I first saw one, I thought of it as a jail to keep the soul in check.’
Two o’clock, three, four, and Richmond did not return. He had been preparing for violence, and Jocundra was certain he had met with it. Even Donnell’s confidence was sapped. He brooded over the ledger while Jocundra kept watch. A few cars passed, several stopping at Sealy’s Restaurant: a building of white concrete block just up the road. Once Sealey himself crossed from the office to the restaurant, pausing to spit on a clump of diseased agave that grew on an island at the center of the parking lot. Palmetto bugs frolicked over the floor, the cabin stank of mildew, and Jocundra’s thoughts eddied in dark, defeated circles. When Richmond finally did return, drunk, at dusk, he announced that he had not only found a car - it would be safe to pick up in the early morning - but he had also arranged a date for the movies with Sealey’s day-shift waitress.
‘Good ol’ country girls,’ he said, rubbing his groin, grinning a tomcat grin; then he looked pointedly at Jocundra and said, ‘Ain’t like them downtown bitches think their ass is solid silver.’
Both Jocundra and Donnell argued vehemently against it, but Richmond was unshakable. ‘I ain’t got my cooze with me like you, man,’ he said to Donnell. ‘Now you can come with me if you want, but you sure as shit ain’t gonna stop me!’ He put on his Hellhounds T-shirt and a windbreaker, slicked back his hair and tied it into a pony-tail.
The neon sign above the restaurant - a blue script Sealey’s - hummed and sputtered, attracting clouds of moths which fluttered in and out of its nimbus like spotches in a reel of silent film. Jocundra pulled up to the side entrance, and a rawboned blond girl wearing a tube top and cut-offs skipped out and hopped in the back of the van with Richmond. ‘Couldn’t get but a six-pack,’ she said breathily; she leaned up between the seats. ‘Hi! I’m Marie.’ Her face was long-jawed and dopey, heavy on the lipstick and mascara. Introductions all around, Jocundra eased out onto the highway, and then Marie poked Donnell’s arm and said, ‘Sure was a weird wreck you guys had, y’know. The light hurt your eyes, too?’
Donnell tensed and said, ‘Uh, yeah,’ but Marie talked right through his answer. ‘Jack here says he don’t never take his glasses off, even when he gets, y’know…’ She giggled. ‘Friendly.’
The Buccaneer Drive-In was playing TRIPLE XXX LADIES NO CHARGE, and the lot was three-quarters full of vans and pickups and family cars, most honking and whooping, demanding the show begin at once. The first feature was Martial Arts Mistress; it detailed the fistic and amorous exploits of a melon-breasted, bisexual Chinese girl named Chen Li, who slept her way up the ladder of the emperor’s court so she ultimately could assassinate the evil prime minister, he who had seduced and killed her sister. The film’s highlight was a kung fu love battle between Chen Li and the minister, culminating with them both vaulting impossibly high and achieving midair penetration, after which Chen Li disposed of her nemesis by means of a secret grip bestowing unendurable pleasure.
Jocundra might have found it amusing, but Richmond’s performance eliminated any possibility of enjoyment. As he and Marie scrunched between the seats, he snorted into her neck and grabbed her breasts, causing giggles and playful slaps, and as the middle of the film approached, he drew her down under a blanket. Rummaging, whispers, a sharply indrawn breath. The van shuddered. Then the unmistakable sounds of passionate involvement, topped off by hoarse exclamations and suppressed squeals. Jocundra sat stiffly, staring at the writhing Oriental shapes, doing for technicolor sex what Busby Berkley had done for the Hollywood musical. Marie made a mewling noise; Richmond popped a beer, glugged, and belched. Feeling imperiled, isolated, Jocundra glanced at Donnell, seeking the comfort of shared misery. He had flipped up his sunglasses and was holding Magnusson’s ledger close to his face, illuminating the page with the green flashes from his eyes.
At intermission, the theater lights blazed up, cartoon crows bore fizzing soft drinks to save a family of pink elephants stranded in a desert, and people straggled toward the refreshment stand. Marie declared she had to visit the ladies’ room and asked Jocundra to come along; her tone was light but insistent. Some teenagers hassled them outside the bathroom and beat on the door after they entered. The speaker over the mirror squawked, ‘Five minutes until showtime,’ and blared distorted circus music. Bugs fried on the fluorescent tubes; the paper towels soaking on the floor looked like mummy wrappings, brown and ravelled; and a lengthy testimonial to the joys of lesbianism occupied most of the wall beside the mirror.
Marie removed lipstick, eyeliner and mascara from her purse, and began to repair the damage done her face by Richmond. ‘Did they really shoot them boys fulla snake poison?’ she asked abruptly. ‘That why Jack’s, y’know, a little cooler than average?’
Jocundra restrained a laugh. ‘Uh huh,’ she said, and splashed water on her face.
‘I heard about ‘em changing people’s blood,’ said Marie. ‘But I never did hear about ‘em replacin’ it with snake poison. Is yours the same way?’
‘It’s only temporary.’ Jocundra affected nonchalance, patting her face dry.
Two women banged the door open, jabbering, and disappeared into grimy stalls.
Marie tugged at her cut-offs, turned sideways to judge the effect. ‘Well, it don’t bother me none. I just thought ol’ Jack was shittin’ me. He’s one crazy dude.’ She winked at Jocundra and wiggled her hips. ‘Anyway, I like ‘em crazy! Guess you do, too.’
Jocundra was noncommittal.
Marie adjusted her tube top. ‘He asked me to come along with y’all.’ Then seeing Jocundra’s stricken expression, she hastened to add, ‘But don’t worry, I’m not. It ain’t Jack, y’understand. He’s just fine.’ She headed for the door, pausing for a final look into the mirror; she had, by dint of painstaking brushwork, transformed her eyes into cadaverous pits. ‘I just know there’d be trouble between you and me,’ she shot back over her shoulder, tossing her hair and switching her rear end. ‘I can tell we ain’t got nothin’ in common.’