“When did I ever take a swing at you?” But I knew that wasn’t what she meant, exactly. Maybe I should have been angry or hurt—she was the woman I’d planned to spend the rest of my life with—but I was secretly relieved. If Vi had stuck with me, she might have been caught up in the society, too. She’d dodged a bullet when she dumped me. “It’s been a long time for me, too.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, a sure sign that I was pissing her off. “Fair enough. What did you come here for?”
“Melly came to me and told me she and Arne and everyone was in trouble, and that it’s my fault.” I almost said
“Well, I don’t know anything about it. I’m not a part of that anymore.”
“Fair enough. Where can I find Arne?”
She scowled and looked around the little apartment. For a moment I thought she would throw me out without an answer. Instead, she said: “You could have called me, you know. You could have written me a letter.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to call” was the only answer I had. I didn’t mention the three years I’d spent in jail without hearing a word from her, or that she’d specifically told me to go away.
“You could have tried anyway.” When I didn’t respond, she shrugged her bony shoulders and dismissed all of it. “He has a new Bigfoot Room. I don’t know where it is, though. I have a straight job now, and I’m a goddamn citizen. You should ask Tyalee. I think he’s still in touch with all of them.”
“Where—”
“Ty has a straight job, too. He’s a trainer at a gym now.”
“Do you know the name of the place?”
“Nope. But it’s across the street from that jungle restaurant. Remember that place you took me to, where everything came with sweet potatoes and mangoes?”
“I remember.”
“His gym is in the shopping mall across the street. Don’t ask me about the others. I have nothing to do with those people now.”
“Thank you.” There should have been more for me to say, but I wasn’t sure how to come at it. “How’s Mouse? I mean, how’s Tommy?” Mouse was Violet’s younger brother, and I’d forgotten that we weren’t supposed to use his nickname anymore.
“Gone,” she said. “He skipped town.”
I knew her well enough to know she was holding something back, but if she didn’t want to talk, I couldn’t force her. I supposed I didn’t have the right, not after five years, but I was still concerned about her. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “You’re the one who looks like a hungry ghost.”
As I went to the door, Jasmin came out of the kitchen. She watched me leave with a careful expression and, just before the door shut behind me, I heard her say very clearly: “That man scared me.”
It was nearly noon, and L.A. felt like a blast furnace. I walked slowly to my car. There was no way I could avoid a ring of sweat under my arms and back, but I could keep it small by going slow.
Unfortunately, my Escort was a Seattle car. The wiper blades were brand new, but it didn’t have air- conditioning.
It was a short two miles to the restaurant, and the gym was exactly where she’d said it’d be. The name was EVERYTHING ATHLETIC, and a sign in the glass door announced that it was the home of the founder of the original “Cardio-eira” classes. There were no windows, so I just pushed my way inside.
A sign at the front desk said that all of Justin Gage’s Cardio-eira classes had been canceled until the end of the month. As I was reading it, a pale young woman with dyed-black hair at the front desk asked if she could help me. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and her face was puffy. She had been crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, more out of surprise than concern.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I just … Are you a member?”
“I’m not. I’ve never been here before.”
“Okay. You should know that the Cardio-eira classes have been canceled, and we don’t know when they’ll be starting again. If ever.”
“What happened?” I asked, because she seemed to expect me to.
“Justin was assaulted last night. Right out in the parking lot. He’s in the hospital, and we don’t know … he’s in bad shape.”
“I’m very sorry,” I said. “Did they catch the guy who did it?”
“No,” she said. “They have no idea who did it.”
A heavily muscled black woman stepped in to join the conversation. “We do have other trainers here.” I noticed that her name tag read MANAGER along the bottom. “And while they may not have the same infomercial cachet that Justin has, they’re really quite excellent.”
“What about Tyalee Murphy? Is he here?”
The manager was carefully neutral. “He’s finishing up with a member at the moment. Are you a friend of his?”
“I’d like to talk to him, if I could.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?”
