“What did I already say about names in this place? And now I suppose you want to arrest me for giving a guy a job without clearing him through Homeland Security.”
“Why is he so interested in you being out here?”
“Because that’s what I pay him for: to watch over the girls and me.”
“He’s new?”
“Yeah, a couple of months or so.”
“Who was your bouncer before he came along?”
“My brother, Moby. You’ve seen him. So you know why I needed a new one.”
“Where’s Tex from?”
“Probably Texas, you think?”
“From what I hear, the two of you have a thing for each other.”
“Right,” she said. “I don’t even know his last name for sure, don’t know a damn thing about him, but I’m fucking him anyway. Hell, I guess I’m fucking everybody in the place. I’ll fuck you if you want me to. I run a club where girls shake their tits and pussies at men, so obviously I’m a fucking whore myself, right? I’m a fucking nymphomaniac, right? So whip out your dick for me, DeMarco, and let’s have at it.”
DeMarco allowed a few moments to pass. Then he asked, “Which of these vehicles is his?”
“How would I know?”
“You don’t know what car he drives?”
“I’m inside when he gets here. I’m inside when he leaves. For all I know he gets dropped off by a flying saucer.”
“So you’re going to force me to run down every license plate in this parking lot. Just to find out who your bouncer is.”
“I’m not forcing you to do anything. Besides, what difference does it make who he is? He’s got nothing to do with any of this.”
“Maybe I just don’t like guys who come at me with a baseball bat.”
“That’s your problem, not mine.”
He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. The thump of music was grating on his nerves again. He felt the vibration in his eyeballs.
“So are you going to whip it out or not?” she said. “What’s the matter? Afraid to show me what you’ve got?”
He did not open his eyes. They sat in silence for another minute. Finally he asked her, “How can you work in such a sad business as this?”
“Haven’t you noticed?” she said. “It’s a sad fucking world.”
Another minute passed. DeMarco sat up, buckled his seat belt, put a hand on the ignition key. “I’ll let you know if I have any other questions.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said.
The slamming of the door jarred his bones. He started the car and the headlights flared on. He watched as she crossed the gravel lot. Her stride on the return trip had none of its previous adamancy. Now her gait was halting and weary. She had thrown her shoulders back and lifted her chin in an attempt to show that he had had no effect on her, but the trudge in her gait betrayed her. At times she almost appeared to falter and list to one side. He leaned forward to watch her more closely, but then she was at Whispers’s door. She yanked it open, stepped into the yellow light, and then was gone.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He turned in his seat, reached for his briefcase, laid it open on the passenger seat. He turned on the dome light, then found Huston’s journal among the papers and paged through it until he located the passage he wanted.
There is some quality of furtiveness about her, some pale aura of shame. She looks like a dancer trying to hide a limp, but there is nothing wrong with her legs; her legs are fine. Better than fine. No, her limp is elsewhere, somewhere in her mind or in her heart, in the shuffle and drag of her soul.
And there was another passage too, something about the mouth. It didn’t take him long to find it.
She is a dark-haired woman, green eyed and dusky with secrets. Her mouth is sensuous but sad, limbs long and elegant, every movement languid. Even her smile is slow with sorrow.
The passages, he realized, applied more to Bonnie than to Danni. In fact, they fit Bonnie perfectly. He looked up at Whispers, the closed door, the dim, naked bulb. “She’s Annabel,” he said. He did not yet know what it meant, but he was nonetheless certain. “They’re both Annabel.”
Forty-Three
On the drive home, DeMarco thought three times about calling Nathan Briessen. After the third time, he placed the call.
“I hope you don’t mind my calling again. But I guess you’ve become my go-to guy for all things literary.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Nathan said, although to DeMarco’s ears his voice sounded sleepy. “Not that I’m any kind of authority.”
“Well, you’re in training to be a writer. So you know how writers work. How Thomas works. I’ve read lots of novels, sure, but that doesn’t give me any insight into what goes on in a writer’s mind.”
“I think you’re giving me too much credit, but I’ll help if I can. What do you want to know?”
“Is it reasonable that Thomas could have based his Annabel character on two women? One young and the other one older?”