Roach chuckled and, shaking his head, went on his way.
“Bet he doesn’t talk to Peters.”
“He said he was going to.”
Mimi snorted. “Yeah, right, he was one step away from patting me on the head and saying, ‘There, there, little lady.’ What an asshole.”
Jay went to give her a hug, but she sloughed it off.
“Hey,” he said. “In case you forgot, I also got ripped off.” He had no idea if the stuff was covered by his mother’s home insurance. She’d said something about it once, but he hadn’t paid much attention.
Back at the house, Mimi went straight to her desk. She sat down, leaning on her elbows, staring at her laptop. “I’m sorry, Jay,” she said. “I just feel violated. And why is it that cops make you feel like you’re to blame?”
Jay rested his hand on her shoulder but sensed somehow that she didn’t want to be mollified, so he pulled away. But he didn’t go away. And after a bit, he leaned his backside on her desk so that they would be facing each other if and when she decided to look up.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Pack up and leave.”
She looked furious. “Hell no,” she said. “That’s what this guy wanted all along.”
“And we ignored him so he gets tough, and now I’m out two very expensive instruments and you’re out a camcorder. We stay and what’s he going to do for encores?”
Mimi’s eyes flashed. “Get his balls shot off,” she said.
Jay smiled. “Guns aren’t easy to score up here.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said.
He looked at her hard. She was kidding-had to be.
“You’ve sure got a lot of moxie,” he said.
“I don’t know about that. Hey, I don’t even know what moxie is, come to think of it. But this whole thing sucks, Jay. Whoever was leaving you bluebirds and snake skins, and figured out how to get in here without ever leaving a trace is not the same person who smashed in my window. Think about it.”
Jay nodded. But he was thinking that the guy who filmed Mimi at the window with her own camera might just want it back to see his handiwork. It was all pretty ugly.
He couldn’t tell if Mimi had thought about what purpose the thief might have for the camera. She seemed angrier than anything. She didn’t just want her stuff back-she wanted to get even. There was bravery in her he didn’t feel himself. If she wanted to stay, then he’d tough it out. But he could feel his strength slipping away. He could feel a darkness seeping into him. It wasn’t just the guitars; it was bigger than that. He doubted Mimi would understand. Rage kept such feelings at bay. Rage burned up sorrow.
She stood up and put her arms around him. He held her tightly, trembling. Finally they pulled apart. She pushed the hair back from his forehead. “You looked as if you were floating away on me,” she said.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry about your guitars,” she said. “That is totally shit.”
“And I’m sorry about your pretty red camcorder and the beeping computer,” he said. “But there’s this place in town. PDQ Electronics. The owner knows Macs.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PDQ Electronics was tucked behind an office-supply store down an alley off Forster. Without Jay’s instructions, Mimi doubted she would ever have found the place. Computer repairs were obviously not a Main Street business in these parts.
A buzzer sounded as she entered, but no one appeared at the counter. Mimi contented herself with looking around. She picked up a packet of recordable discs and a new ink jet for her printer, assuming-hoping-she’d be able to use her printer again.
Still no service, although she thought she heard someone in the back room. She cleared her throat. Nothing.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
And now a man appeared, wiping his hands on a white cloth, stopping in the doorway with a startled look on his face.
“Are you open?” said Mimi.
He recovered and smiled shyly. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, I was listening to something on my iPod.” He looked down, bashfully, but when he raised his head, he looked straight into her eyes and his own eyes were on high beam. They were deep blue-as blue as the logo on the Epson ink cartridge in her hand. Ink-cartridge blue. Amazing.
“Well, there’s no law against that,” she said.
He frowned. “Pardon?” he said.
“Against listening to your iPod,” said Mimi, heading toward the counter-drawn toward it, more like. “Unless you’re listening to Whitesnake,” she said. “I think there may be a law against that.”
Again with the awkward grin. Not a bad face. His nose was on the large size but noble, she decided. And there was a leftover smattering of acne on his neck. But what a neck-like steel cables. He was in his early twenties, she guessed. Thick through the shoulders, sculpted biceps. And all of it on display since he was wearing nothing but a T-shirt tucked into jeans with a big rodeo-type belt buckle. He shrugged.
“I’m not much on Whitesnake,” he said. “I was listening to this band out of Montreal. Arcade Fire?”
Now it was her turn to look surprised. “Get out of town,” she said. “Really?”
“Yeah. There isn’t a law against them, is there?”
She laughed. “No, it’s just… well, so sick,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“I mean sick like ‘That is so sick, man. Like good sick. Oh, never mind.”
She stopped herself-faked zipping up her lips. And he just stared at her, his mouth a little open, tempting her to zip his lips closed as well. But no, touching his lips would not be a good idea. There was something disturbing about him. Not bad disturbing. You’re here on business, Mimi, she told herself, and hoisted her computer case onto the counter.
“You got some kind of problem?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Big-time. But a friend of mine said you’re the man to see.”
She pulled out her laptop and laid it before him on the counter.
“A PowerBook,” he said. “Mr. Pretty’s the Mac guy.”
“And he’s…”
“Uh, well, he’s on vacation this week.”
“Right,” said Mimi, and tapped a little tattoo on the counter with her fingernails. Then she smiled sweetly. “So I’m stuck with you?” she said, and hoped it didn’t sound too flirtatious. What had come over her, for God’s sake?
“I could like maybe, you know… take a look?”
“That would be very nice of you.”
“What’s up with it?”
“It beeps at me,” she said.
“Beeps?”
“Yeah. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. Like that. Scary.”
He stared at the computer. He leaned lightly against the counter, his fingers splayed, taking his weight. She watched the muscles in his forearms flex, the veins pop. But he was gentle as he unlatched the top. And the computer beeped, just as she had said it would.
“Hmmm,” he said, scratching his head. Then he turned to the store’s computer mounted on the counter and
