Down in the Zero

going back to the well.'

'You think they turn over the whole deal, no copies?'

'For that kind of cash? Sure. They must have a real solid rep.'

'Like people know they pull this stuff?'

'Remember a few years ago…when that maniac was carving up gays down by the pier?'

'Sure,' I told him. A serial killer, heavy into mutilation, stalking the sex–for–sale streets down by the river. The body count was getting up there, the headlines were screaming, and the homosexual community was in panic. A couple of them came to me, said there was good money in it if I could come up with the killer. They didn't have much faith in the cops.

'Remember that guy Robbie?' the Prof asked. 'Remember how he ran it down.'

I lit a smoke, bringing it back. Robbie owned a small art shop in the area— he was one of the first guys I spoke to when I started the job.

'Nobody's cruising anymore, right?' I'd asked him.

'Oh please !' he snorted. 'That's not going to change. A maniac might scare the hustlers, but not those looking for love. Besides, you know someone like that's out there, it adds a little jolt, understand?'

'You think people into that let's–meet–and–beat stuff know somebody's playing with cameras, Prof?'

'Could be, schoolboy. Long as nobody actually got burned, it'd probably just be a turn–on for them. They know they got to pay for their play anyway, what's the difference?'

'It's a sweet racket. They get paid at both ends.'

'Listen, homeboy, whatever that kid's mother is, she ain't stupid. We need some proof, and we need some truth.'

'I'm going back there tonight. I'll replace all the stuff.'

The Prof stepped close, put his hand on my shoulder. 'Burke, listen good— if you got the right climate, the weather don't matter, see?'

'No. What's it mean?'

'Take a look, but be ready to book. If you can't walk light, stay outta sight.'

'Look, Prof….'

'I mean it, bro. I'm not liking a damn bit of this.'

It was around midnight when I pulled into the garage. The red Miata still wasn't there. I couldn't tell if the kid had come and gone, or hadn't come back at all.

The apartment over the garage looked the way I left it.

I walked back over to the main house. It was empty. The hair I'd plucked from my head and anchored with a tiny dot of spit was still in place across the marble seam of the safe. I put everything back.

I had just walked into the apartment over the garage when the phone rang. I picked it up, said 'What?' and waited.

I heard some breathing, then the line went dead. I closed my eyes, drifted off.

Later that night, I heard a car pull in. My watch said 3:15. I heard a door slam, walked over to the glass panel in the door. The kid was moving across the lawn, not too steady.

I gave him five minutes, then I went across. The back door was standing open. The kid was sitting at the kitchen table with the lights off, staring at the far wall.

'You okay?' I asked him.

'I called,' he said. 'I kept calling. You weren't here. I didn't want to come back until I knew.'

'That was you on the phone before?'

The kid nodded. 'I was going to go up to your place, but I didn't want to wake you up.'

'What's going on?'

'Diandra's dead. It happened…I guess a couple of days ago. We just found out.'

'Who's Diandra?'

'Diandra Blankenship. She jumped. Off the Old Mill Bridge. Onto the rocks.'

'How do you know?'

'They were all talking about it. At the party. We were going to do a couple of tanks, just chill, listen to some tunes. But nobody could really get into it.'

'You knew her?'

'Yeah. A little. She was a year behind me in school.'

'Didn't the cops come around?'

'Not to the party. They talked to some of the kids. Myron said Brew said they talked to him. She didn't leave a note or anything.'

'Get some sleep,' I told him.