"Gee," she said, "that narrows it down to about ninety guys."
"You had a friend. Daphne, Diane, something like that. Redhead with a tattoo on her left tit."
Jasmine said, "What kinda tattoo?"
"I think it was a balloon or something."
"Don't ring a bell."
Avila said, "The guy you were with, you'd definitely remember. Scary dude with a seriously fucked-up face."
"Little Pepe that got burned?"
"No, it wasn't Pepe with the burns. Man's name was Snapper. His jaws stuck out all gross and crooked. You remember. It was a party before he went upstate."
"Nope, still no bell," said Jasmine. "What're you doing tonight, sweetheart? You need a date?"
What a cold shitty world, thought Avila. There was no such thing as a friendly favor anymore; everybody had their greedy paws out.
"Meet me at Cisco's," he told her tersely. "Nine o'clock at the bar."
"That's my boy."
"You still a blonde?"
"If you want."
Avila arrived twenty minutes late; he had taken a long hot shower following another furtive raid on the buried Tupperware stash. The stitches in his groin still stung from the soaking.
Jasmine sat at the bar, sipping Perrier from the bottle. She wore a subtle scarlet miniskirt and an alarming Carol Channing-style wig. Her perfume smelled like a fruit stand. Avila sat down carefully and ordered a beer. He folded a hundred-dollar bill into Jasmine's empty hand.
She siriiled. "I do remember you now."
"What about Snapper?"
"You're a squeaker."
"Como?"
"You squeak when you fuck. Like a happy little hamster."
Avila flushed, and lunged for his beer.
"Don't be embarrassed," Jasmine said. She took his left wrist and examined the beads of his santeria bracelet. "I remember this, too. Some sorta voodoo."
Avila pulled away. "Has Daphne heard from Snapper lately?"
"It's not Daphne anymore. It's Bridget." Jasmine dug a pack of Marlboros out of her purse. "Matter of fact, she spent the hurricane with him. Drunk as a skunk at some motel up in Broward."
Avila made no move to light her cigaret. He said, "When's the last time she saw him?"
"Just yesterday."
"Yesterday!"
It was too good to be true! Thank you, mighty Change! Avila was awestruck and humbled.
Jasmine said, "That Snapper calls all the time, ever since he got out of Sumter. She's put her meathooks in that boy. By the way, her tattoo-it's not a balloon, it's a lollipop." Jasmine laughed. "But you were on the money about which tit."
"So where's Snapper?"
"Sugar, how should I know? He's Daphne's trick."
"You mean Bridget."
Jasmine bowed. "Touche," she said, good-naturedly.
Avila produced another hundred-dollar bill. He put it flat on the bar, beneath the Perrier bottle. "Is he at a motel?" he asked.
"A house, I think."
"Where?"
"I gotta ask her," Jasmine said.
"You need a quarter for the phone?"
"She's working tonight. Give me your number."
Avila wrote it in the margin of the damp C-note. Jasmine put it in her purse.
"I'm hungry," she said.
"I'm not."
"What's the matter?" She gave his knee a squeeze. "Oh, I know. I know why you're pissed."
"You don't know a damn thing."
"Yes I do. You're mad 'cause of what I said about the way you are in bed."
Avila shot to his feet and called for the check. Jasmine tugged him back to the barstool. Pressing her chest against his arm, she whispered, "Hey, it's all right. I thought it was cute."
"I don't squeak," Avila said coldly.
"You're right," said Jasmine. "You're absolutely right. Come on, honey, couldn't you go for a steak?"
Edie Marsh and Snapper had gotten into a nasty argument over the call girl. Edie had said it was no time for screwing-they needed to practice their husband-and-wife routine for when Fred Dove's boss showed up. Snapper had told her to lighten up or shut her trap. Watching the panel of saucy prostitutes on Oprah had made him think about licking the former Daphne's lollipop.
She was delighted to hear from him, the escort service business being slow as molasses after the hurricane. She caught a taxi to the Torres house, but got there late because the driver got lost in the pitch darkness and traffic confusion.
There was no door on which to knock, so Bridget strolled in unannounced. Edie Marsh and Snapper were glaring at each other by candlelight in the living room.
"Hello again," Bridget said to Edie, who nodded testily.
Bridget scampered to the BarcaLounger and sprawled across Snapper's lap. She scissored her chubby legs in the air and smooched his neck (the disaligned jaws made mouth-kissing problematic).
Snapper said, "You're sittin' on my gun."
Bridget wriggled girlishly as he extricated the pistol. She said, "Baby, what happened to your leg?"
"Ask Little Miss Psychobitch."
Bridget stared at Edie Marsh. "He hit me," Edie said, remorselessly, "so I hit him back."
"With a fucking crowbar."
"Ouch," said the hooker.
Snapper told Edie to go walk the damn dogs for a couple hours.
Bridget said, "You got dogs? Where?" She sat up excitedly. "I love dogs."
"Just take off your clothes," Snapper said. "Where's the Stoli?"
"All the liquor stores were boarded up."
"Mother of Christ!"
Edie Marsh said, "Look, Bridget, nothing personal against you. But we've got a very important meeting tomorrow morning"
"Wait, now," Snapper cut in. "You're sayin' there's no vodka? Did I hear right?"
"Baby, the storm, remember? Everything's shut down."
"Bullshit. You didn't even try."
"Chill out," said Bridget. "We don't need booze for a party."
Edie Marsh tried once more: "All I'm asking is that you're gone in the morning, OK? There's a man coming to the house, he won't understand."
"No problem, hon."
"Nothing personal."
Bridget laughed. "It's not like I had my heart set on staying over in this dump."
Edie said, "You should see the bathrooms. There's mosquitoes this big hatching in the toilets!"
Bridget made a face and pressed her knees together. Snapper said: "Edie, I'm countin' to ten. Get your lazy ass in gear."
Donald and Maria began yipping in the backyard.
"Are those your puppies?" Bridget sprang from Snapper's lap and hurried to what once had been French doors. "They sound adorable-what kind?" She peered expectantly into the night.
Snapper gimped to her side. "Fertilizer hounds," he said.
"Fertilizer hounds?"
"When I get done with 'em, yeah. That's the only goddamn thing they'll be good for." He raised the pistol and fired twice at the infernal yowling. Bridget let out a cry and covered her ears. Edie Marsh came up from behind and kicked Snapper in the crook of his bum right leg. He went down with a surprised grunt.
Outside, the volume of doggy racket increased by many decibels. Donald and Maria were hysterical with fear. Edie Marsh hurried outside to untangle the leashes before they garroted each other. Bridget knelt at Snapper's side and scolded him for being such a meanie.