Crooked Little Vein

“You don’t think maybe they just want to make America a less freakier place?”

Trix eyed me, crunching a passion fruit seed. “Three thousand years ago stable homosexual relationships were mainstream in many societies all over the world. Don’t you think the current administration would consider that kind of freaky?”

“Three thousand years ago people painted themselves blue and hunted their own food with sticks. Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot, Trix.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that maybe, just maybe, America would get along fine without people who fuck dogs.”

“So you’re equating stable homosexual relationships with dogfucking.”

“Actually, no. You are. So why don’t you put down your studenty bullshit for one minute and talk to me like an adult?”

“Oh, fuck you, Mike. Maybe it’s a bigger subject than two people can deal with over breakfast, okay?”

“Well, guess what. It is down to two people. Sometimes that’s the way it breaks. And it can be down to one person if you like.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can go home any time you like.” Goddamn moron that I was.

“So you can hand over this thing with a clear conscience?”

“Oh, so you’re Jiminy fucking Cricket now. No. So I can just get the job done with the minimum amount of distraction and then go home myself. You may not have noticed, but I am not having fun here, Trix. This job started out weird and it’s gotten scary. I want it to be over now. Either I don’t find the book, in which case I’m going to assume this is the end of the line, or I find the book, in which case I hand it the hell over, get paid, go home, and forget the whole thing ever happened.”

She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You want to forget it all happened.”

“Yeah,” I said, like a goddamn moron, “yeah, I do.”

“Uh-huh. You know, I was wondering how this’d start to go wrong. I didn’t really think it’d begin with me daring to have an opinion.”

“What?”

“You want to forget it all happened? That starts with me, Mike. Look at you. Did you even realize you stood up? Your chin sticking out like a sulky child? Your fists all balled up?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Sure you did. And, you know, if you really think handing over anything that could even possibly affect people’s minds to the bastard in the White House is a good idea—or if you care so little about people that you really don’t give a shit whether it’s a good idea or not—then maybe it’s just as well I’m getting a good look at you now. Give me the handheld.”

“What for?”

“I want to take some pictures and upload them to my photo-hosting site.”

Why the hell not. I took it out of my jacket and dropped it on the carpet by her.

“Do what you like, Trix. If you really, honestly think I was talking about us, when the whole conversation had been about the job…then fuck it. I’ll get my stuff and find a hotel. And you can do what you like. This is a stupid argument. You’re talking yourself around in circles and I just want to get done with this job that has scared the shit out of me and go back to some semblance of a life. With you, if you can get past the fact that it’s you I care about and not the endless parade of assholes, freaks, and crapsacks I meet every day. Without you, if you really believe my lack of love for the animal-humping community is a good enough reason to throw us away. I’m going out for a walk. You do what you like.”

Chapter 45

I walked for an hour before I realized I no longer remembered what I was so pissed about. By which point I was totally lost and had no idea how to get back to the house.

So I lit up a cigarette (and I knew I was smoking too much), slowed down, and just strolled for a while, to see where the broad sunlit streets led me. Every now and then I stopped at a corner and looked around for a cab, reminding myself each time that I wasn’t in New York and that this wasn’t a civilized city.

Occasionally, a private car would go by, and I’d see faces pressed to the windows, staring at me like I was an alien. It eventually hit me that I was the only pedestrian I’d seen the whole time I was pounding the sidewalk, and that I stood out like a cheerleader in Riker’s.

I just walked. After a while, houses gave way to low, broad industrial units. I stopped on a corner to light another cigarette, just because I really was in that kind of a mood. It took me a moment to register someone yelling at me. I was about to yell back that smoking was still allowed outdoors when I realized the guy doing the shouting, standing at the entrance to the nearest industrial building, was waving an unlit cigarette. He was stocky, midthirties, glasses, and a Star Wars T-shirt that looked like it’d been printed when the first one came out. He was scratching at his short brown hair like a little monkey that’d been kept in a cage too long. I wandered over.

“Please tell me you’ve got a light,” he said in a strangled voice. “My lighter died and I swear no one in the entire building smokes anymore.”

I flicked my lighter and cupped the flame for him. He sucked at his smoke like a dehydrated kid putting a straw to a lake. None of the smoke came back out of him, as if his body had just absorbed the entire load. “Thanks, man. I was dying. People always said these things would kill me.”

“No problem.”