Really?
She looked up sharply.
To make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, she said. He cuts himself, you know.
I didn’t know that.
On his stomach. He’s got scars all over. He’s got this Japanese sword. It’s sharp as a razor blade.
I remembered the scars. The books. The nunchuks. The kid had a samurai fetish, evidently.
Are you worried he’s really going to hurt himself?
What do you think?
Has he seen somebody about this?
She laughed a mirthless laugh.
Jules? You got to be kidding. He never wants help from anybody.
If I suggested somebody, do you think we could talk him into seeing them?
Never, she said. He’s Superman, you know. Not the comic book one. The other one.
Nietzsche?
That one.
The superman in his cave? Waiting to come out and conquer the world? Needs no help from anybody?
That’s the one, she said.
Super fucking Samurai Man. This was one dangerously messed-up kid.
She got up. I figured she was going to the bathroom, to cry a bit, or whatever. I got up too. To get myself another beer. But as she passed by she turned and pushed me back into the chair. Swung her leg over me, feline quick, sat facing me on my lap. She put her arms around my neck. She put her face on my chest. It happened very quickly. I was confused. Did she need a fatherly hug? I put my arms around her. She was tiny and soft. She was crying. She felt very warm against me. I felt too large. Awkward. She lifted her face to mine.
It’s going to be all right, I said.
She put her mouth on mine. It was small and soft and wet and tasted like need.
I felt a stirring that I hadn’t felt in years.
Oh God, I thought, tell me the nightmare is over.
But not like this.
I pushed her back.
Lisa, I said, I’m sorry. I want to help you. But this isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this.
I know, she said, suddenly calm and with an air of wisdom that startled me. But I wanted to taste you.
She had a little girl’s voice. But she wasn’t any little girl.
She smiled a tear-stained smile. I returned her smile.
Okay, I said. You’ve tasted me. Now I think you’d better get back to that couch. Before Jules walks in.
Oh, he’d be okay with it, she laughed, lifting herself off me and going to the kitchen. Do you want a beer?
Sure, I said.
I was dizzy with the sudden changes of mood. Four, I could count, in less than half an hour.
This was one interesting girl.
Jesus, I reminded myself, she’s not more than five years older than Kelly.
The front door opened. Jules was home.
Anxiety. Disappointment. Fear. Relief. How was Lisa going to act? Would she tell Jules? Had I irretrievably destroyed my objectivity, my credibility? Could I get her alone again sometime?
Hey, said Jules, as though my presence was expected. What up?
I came by to ask you a few things, I said. And tell you a few.
He flopped down on the couch.
Lisa bite your head off yet?
Not at all. She’s been very nice.
Not too nice, I hope, he said, shooting her a Look.
I’m always too nice, according to you, she said from the kitchen, projecting her voice across the vast loft space.
That’s a fact, he said, and turned to me again. What up? he said.
He had a strangely confident air, for a young kid under suspicion of murder. One who, I had just learned, had a frightening propensity for self-mutilation.
Tell me about the twins, I said.
He fixed me with a level stare.
What about them?
Why didn’t you tell me about them? Let’s start with that.
Why should I?
I don’t know. It seems like it might be a detail worth knowing.
They got nothing to do with this.
I don’t know that. I don’t think you know that either.
Shit, man, I try not to think about those little slime-buckets, okay? It didn’t come up.
What’s so slimy about them?
You met them?
One of them.
Then you don’t have to ask.
I guessed he was right.
Lisa brought over a couple of cans of Heineken. I took both, tossed one at Jules. He caught it clean. With his right hand.
Lisa vanished. Upstairs, I presumed.
Did you see either of them that day?
Who?
Ramon and Raul.
What day?
The day Larry was killed.
Them? Nah. Why would I have seen them?
Just asking. What about your father? Did you see him?
I try to stay as far away as possible, he sneered.
Tell me about the poker game.
What poker game?
The one where Larry said you lost two grand to him.
I told you, man, Jules laughed. The guy was wired. Wasn’t no two grand.
Well, who else was at the game?
Shit, man, whose side you on anyway?
I’m on your side, Jules. I’m your lawyer. Everything you tell me is privileged. I couldn’t tell anyone about it even if I wanted to. I’m just looking for somebody who can maybe corroborate your story.
He looked me in the eye, his lips curled in a good imitation of someone who didn’t believe a word I was saying.
What difference would it make, somebody says I owed him, says I didn’t?
He had a point, I supposed. If somebody confirmed that he did owe Larry, all that would prove was that Larry had been right about the debt. Perhaps hurt my client’s credibility a bit. That wasn’t my goal. If they said there was no debt, all it meant was that Jules was right. Either way, it wouldn’t change the fact that Jules and Larry disagreed about it. That they had a fight. And it wouldn’t say a thing about whether Jules chased Larry to the alley.
Listen, Jules, I said, I’m just trying to get all the facts here. You don’t need to keep answering my questions with questions.
Okay. Yes, no, maybe.
I’m trying to help you, Jules.
I know. Sorry. Whatever. Sorry. Sometimes I just say shit, you know? It comes into my head. If I don’t let it
