The sound of water running and dishes clanking came from the kitchen. Petty bent and looked underneath the couch.
“You told us to come on over,” I called back through the doorway, wondering what exactly Petty was searching for.
Ashley laughed. “That’s right. Time got away from me, I guess.”
“Can I help with anything?” I asked.
“No, no, you two make yourselves at home. I’m going to finish up in here and then we can go out and get a beer.”
“Listen,” Dekker said. “You sure it’s okay if we stay here?”
“Of course,” Ashley called above the splashing and clattering.
“Thanks,” I said. “We can’t stay out too late because Petty’s got a bus to catch in the morning.”
“Whatever,” Ashley said. The water turned off. “I’m going to get cleaned up and then we’ll be off.”
She disappeared again and I heard the shower turn on.
“Do you think she’d mind if I changed the channel?” Petty asked, pointing at the TV.
“Go ahead,” I said, and went into the kitchen. The counters were piled with crusted dishes, food from possibly weeks ago. The smell was gag--inducing. I could almost hear the cockroaches in the walls scratching to get out and feast. I opened some of the cabinets and found nothing but spices and a few cans. In the refrigerator was mustard, a bowl full of green fuzzy mold, and a carton of milk with an expiration date of two weeks ago.
The sound of changing television channels drifted in through the kitchen doorway until I heard the familiar minor--key theme song of Offender International. I returned to the living room and found Petty standing with her back to the wall, eyes riveted on the TV.
“You okay?” I asked her.
She shrugged. I could tell she didn’t feel safe here. I probably should have taken her to another of my friends’ places in Salina, but they were all guys, and I didn’t think she’d be comfortable in a man cave. Ashley was the only girl I knew in town.
I sat on the couch and watched the show until Ashley reappeared looking like a whole different person, almost like her old self. She wore jeans and a jeans jacket, had on makeup, and her hair was curled. She was almost pretty.
“So let’s go, let’s do this,” Ashley said, lighting a cigarette.
“You ready to go, Petty?” I asked.
She didn’t move, her eyes on the TV.
Ashley took a drag off her cigarette and stared in Petty’s direction.
A glance at the clock on the wall told me that about three minutes remained in the episode.
“Hey, Ashley,” I said. “Do you have your yearbook from my senior year handy? I want to show Petty our pictures, show her what she missed.”
Ashley squealed. “It’s in my room. I’ll go get it.”
She went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
On the TV, Detective Mandy Quirke was telling the killer how she knew it was him. The killer sobbed into his hands. As the uniforms handcuffed him and led him out of the interview room, Mandy’s partner said something clever and the black screen that says “Created by Bob Blaine” appeared. Petty turned off the TV.
I stuck my head in the door Ashley had disappeared through. “Never mind,” I said, “we can find it later. Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
On the way out to the truck, I asked Ashley, “So where you working?”
“Well,” Ashley said, dragging on her cigarette before crushing it out on the walk. “I was working at Schwan’s, but I got laid off.”
Right. Laid off. I turned my face away so she wouldn’t see my skepticism. As if she’d notice. I unlocked the pickup. Petty opened the passenger door, pushed the seat forward and sat on the little shelf seat behind the buckets, letting Ashley have shotgun. I totally understood why Petty didn’t want Ashley to sit behind her. Ashley probably struck her as the kind of girl who was handy with a garrote.
“Where we going?” I asked.
“Knucklehead’s,” Ashley said, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it up. She held it to my lips and I took a grateful hit.
“You’re gonna have to tell me where to go,” I said, pulling away from the curb.
“I’ll tell you where to go, all right,” Ashley said. “Ha ha ha, ha ha ha. It’s on Pacific and Third.”
It was only a few blocks away. The bar was a cinder--block building the size of a small ranch house. I parked on the street and Ashley swiveled the rearview mirror to look at herself and fluff her hair before getting out. Instead of holding the seat forward for Petty, she let it clunk back into place and walked ahead of us to the bar. I sighed and yanked the seat so Petty could get out. As Ashley disappeared inside, Petty froze up.
“I can’t go in there,” she said.
“Sure you can,” I said. “You got your ID, right?”
“No, I mean . . . I . . .”
Once again, pity for this girl washed over me. What must it be like to be so paranoid? Still, observing Petty side by side with Ashley made me admire her more, because unlike Ashley, Petty hadn’t chosen her circumstances.
“I’ll stay right by your side,” I said. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”