Down in the Zero

'It's been dark for a while,' she said, coming on the line.

'So?'

'I said to call after dark.'

'Oh…that was an order, then?'

'Sure. Don't you like orders?'

'No.'

'You'd like mine.'

'Not so far I don't.'

'Don't be such an adolescent. You're too old for boy–games, aren't you?'

'What do you want?'

'Ouch! I don't like cold things.'

I lit a cigarette, not saying anything. Closed my eyes. It was no contest— she didn't know about waiting.

'You want to start over?' she whispered.

'Tell me what you want.'

It was her turn to sit quiet. I could hear a faint undertone, like a humming…couldn't tell if it was her or the line. I ground out my cigarette. Heard her take a breath. Then…

'You're no caretaker. And I know why you're here.'

'Do you?'

'Yes. Want me to tell you?'

'Sure.'

'Maybe I will. Tonight. Late. You know where Rector's is?'

'No.'

'It's a club. Private club. Get the address from Randy.'

'Okay.'

'In the back, the parking lot makes a kind of bulb…like in a thermometer? Pull in there and wait for me.'

'When?'

'I'll be coming out around two.'

'Around two?'

'Yes, around two. You wait for me, understand?'

'I'll be there at two.'

'Look, you…'

I hung up the phone.

I went back over to the big house. Music came from upstairs…loud…but I didn't see any sign of the kid. I found a Yellow Pages near the phone in the kitchen. No listing for any joint called Rector's. I tried 411— nothing.

I made my way upstairs. The kid was blissed out across his bed, staring at the ceiling. The marijuana stench was heavy. Sticks of incense on his bureau, unburned— no reason for him to mask the smell with nobody around, I guessed. No point asking him any questions.

I went back over to the apartment. Showered, shaved, put on the outfit Michelle told me would open all these lush doors. In the garage, I helped myself to the Lexus.

I was in town just after midnight. Passed a few restaurants, scoping it out. Didn't feel right, so I turned toward the highway. Found the Blue Bottle. Pulled in. I didn't get a second glance making my way to the entrance— maybe Michelle was right.

A blonde girl in a sequined halter top was taking money at the door, a bouncer hovering over her right shoulder in case someone's ID didn't check out. He was strictly Amateur Hour: big, sharp–cut muscles bulging out of an orange silk T–shirt, but his hair was too long, too easy to grab in a fight. And his hands looked like he only used them to pat on his cologne.

I gave the woman the ten bucks she asked for, moved past her toward the dance floor. As I passed by the bouncer, I tilted my head in a

'Come over here' gesture. He moved with a bodybuilder's strut, rolling his shoulders with his hands clasped behind his back. When he got close, I turned my shoulder so he came into a space just for us.

'I was supposed to meet some friends. Not here. At another joint. And I lost the address. Thought maybe you could help me out.'

'What's the place?' he asked me, a practiced hardguy edge to his voice.

'Rector's.'

He shot me a look. 'I'm not sure I know where that is.'