About how Hernandez had come over, just the other morning but it seemed like years, to tell him he could come up here and drive for this Mr. Warbaby. Then she wanted to know what it was that skip tracers did, so he explained what it was they were supposed to do, and what it was he figured they probably did do, and she said they sounded like bad news.
When he was done, she just looked at him. Thats it? Thats how you got here and what youre doing?
Yeah he said, guess it is.
Jesus she said. Sort of shook her head. They both watched a couple of full body-suits blip past, one of them all circuit-patterns, like they stenciled on old-fashioned circuit-boards. You got eyes she said, and yawned in the middle of it, like two piss-holes in a snowbank.
There was a knock at the door. It opened a crack, and somebody, not the man who jingled when he walked, said: You having any luck picking a design? Henrys gone home
Well its just so hard to decide Chevette Washington said, theres so many of them and we want to get just the right one.
Thats fine said the voice, bored. You just go right on looking. The door closed.
Let me see those glasses Rydell said.
She reached over and got her jacket. Got out the case with the glasses, the phone. Handed him the glasses. The case was made out of some dark stuff, thin as eggshell, rigid as steel. He opened it. The glasses looked exactly like Warbabys. Big black frames, the lenses black now. They had a funny heft to them, weighed more than you thought they would.
Chevette Washington had flipped open the phones keypad.
Hey Rydell said, touching her hand, theyll have your number for sure. You dial out on that, or even take a call, theyll be in here in about ten minutes.
Wont have this number she said. Its one of Codess phones. I took it off the table when the lights went out.
Thought you said you didnt just steal things.
Well she said, if Codes had it, its stolen already. Codes trades em off people in the city, then Lowell gets somebody to tumble em, change the numbers. She tapped the pad, held the little phone to her ear. Dead she said, shrugging.
Here Rydell said, putting the glasses down on his lap and taking the phone. Maybe it got wet, or the batterys knocked loose. Whats old Codes trade for these, anyway? He ran his thumbnail around the back of the phone, looking for the place whtre you could pry it open.
Well she said, stuff.
He popped the case. Saw a tightly rolled mini-Ziploc wedged in there beside the battery. It had pushed the contacts out of alignment. He took it out and unrolled it. Stuff?
Uh-huh.
This type of stuff.
Uh-huh.
He looked at her. If this is 4-Thiobuscaline, its a controlled substance.
She looked at the bag of grayish powder, then at him. But you arent a cop anymore.
You dont do this stuff, do you?
No. Well, once or twice. Lowell did, sometimes.
Well, just dont do any around me, because Ive seen what it does. Nice normal people do a couple of hits of this, they go snake-shit crazy. He tapped the bag. Enough in this to get half a dozen people fucked up like you wouldnt believe. He handed it to her and picked up the phone, trying to get the battery back where it belonged.
Id believe it she said. I saw what it did to Lowell
Dial tone he said. Who you want to call?
Thought about it, then she took the phone and flipped it shut. Guess there isnt anybody.
That old man have a phone?
No she sad, and her shoulders hunched. Im scared they killed him, too. Cause of me
Rydell couldnt think of anything to say to that. He was too tired to flick the remote. Some guys arm with a furled Confederate flag on it. Just like home. He looked at her. She sure didnt look anywhere near as tired as he was. That could just be being young, he thought. He sure hoped she wasnt on any ice or dancer or anything. Maybe she was in some kind of shock, still. Said this Sammy had been killed, two others she was worried about. Evidently shed known the guy plowed in Svobodov on that bicycle, but she didnt know yet that hed been shot. Funny what you miss seeing in a fight. Well, he didnt see any reason to tell her, not right now.
Ill try Fontaine she said, opening the phone again.
Who?
He does Skinners electricity and stuff. She dialled a number, put the phone to her ear.
His eyes closed and his head hit the back of the couch so hard it almost woke him up.
Smells like piss Skinner said, accusingly, waking Yamazaki from a dream in which he stood beside J.D. Shapely on a great dark plane, before a black and endless wall inscribed with the names of the dead.
Yamazaki raised his head from the table. The room in darkness. Light through the church window.
What are you doing here, Scooter?
Yamazakis buttocks and lower back ached. The storm he said, still half in his dream.
What storm? Wheres the girl?
Gone Yamazaki said. Dont you remember? Loveless?
What are you talking about? Skinner struggled up on one elbow, kicking off the blankets and the sleeping-bag back, his gray-stubbled face twisted with disgust. Need a bath. Dry clothes.
Loveless. He found me in a bar. He made me bring him here. I think he must have followed me, earlier, when I left you
Sure. Shut up, Scooter, okay?
Yamazaki closed his mouth.
Now we need a bunch of water. Hot. First for coffee, then some so I can wash off. You know how to work a Coleman stove?
A what?
Green thing over there, red tank on the front. You go jiggle that tank off, Ill tell you how to pump it up.
27. After the storm
Yamazaki stood up, wincing at the pain in his back, and stumbled toward the green-painted metal box Skinner was pointing at.
Gone off fucking that no-ass greaseball boyfriend of hers again. Useless, Scooter
He stood on Skinners roof, pantlegs flapping in a breeze that gave no hint of last nights storm, looking out at the city washed in a strange iron light, shreds of his dream still circling dimly Shapely had spoken to him, his voice the voice of the young Elvis Presley. He said that he had forgiven his killers.
Yamazaki stared at Transamericas upright thorn, bandaged with the brace theyd applied after the Little Grande, half-hearing the dreamed voice. They just didnt know any better, Scooter.
Skinner cursing, below, as he sponged himself with water Yamazaki had warmed on the Coleman stove.
Yamazaki thought of his thesis advisor in Osaka.
I dont care Yamasaki said, in English, San Francisco his witness.
The whole city was a Thomasson. Perhaps America itself was a Thomasson.
How could they understand this in Osaka, in Tokyo?
Yo! On the roof! someone called.
Yamazaki turned, saw a thin black man atop the tangle of girders that braced the upper end of Skinners lift. He wore a thick tweed overcoat and a crocheted cap.
You okay up there? How bout Skinner?
Yamazaki hesitated, remembering Loveless. If Skinner or the girl had enemies, how could he recognize them?
Names Fontaine the man said. Chevette called me, told me to get over here and see if Skinner got through the blow all right. I take care of the wiring tip here, make sure his lifts running and all.
Hes bathing now Yamazaki said. In the storm, he became confused. He doesnt seem to remember.
Have some power for you in about another half an hour the man said. Wish I could say the same for over my end. Lost four transformers. Got us five dead bodies, twenty injured that I know of. Skinner got coffee on?