Bobby watched Mary Lim’s place on Park Blvd. He waited in a stolen Mazda directly across from her house, among other parked cars. No one noticed him. He went through two packs of cigarettes, fought the urge to piss all afternoon, and sat in a haze of smoke, his eyes stinging. He had some trouble finding this place—he had thought he could take the subway—but ended up stealing a Ford truck, checking into a large parking garage downtown, then stealing this old Mazda and switching the plates. He preferred taking cars from garages, especially long-term ones, since they usually weren’t noticed right away. But he’d have to dump this car after tonight. He’d drive it to his hotel in the city, a crappy place in the Mission, and leave it. From the looks of the neighborhood, the car would probably get stolen again.
He itched to get back to L.A. He was always cold. He was always getting lost. He just wanted to find Jake and get this goddamn thing over with. When he returned to L.A., the first thing he’d do would be to get a doctor to check him again. Something didn’t feel right.
He half-hoped Jake would be hiding out here, but a quick look around the house showed nothing. She was probably at work. He wasn’t sure how he’d play this. He went over the possibilities while he smoked his throat raw.
He hadn’t eaten all day, and also had refused to drink because he didn’t want to piss. He kept tasting something sour in his mouth, adding to the ash flavor.
A small sports car—a low two-seater—sped by, slowed at the center divide, made a U-turn, then signalled in front of the house. It pulled into the driveway. Bobby sat up. The signal light was still blinking when a woman shut off the car and climbed out. She activated her car alarm. Bobby had trouble seeing anything except long hair and a large, bulky grocery bag, as she walked to the front door and let herself in. The lights went on inside.
He waited fifteen minutes. He gave her a chance to put away her groceries, change out of her work clothes. He didn’t want her annoyed by his surprise visit. The other houses around hers were still quiet. More cars drove by, rush hour in full swing.
Bobby limped across the street. A car was approaching, and he had to run, which immediately sent shooting pains through his stomach and groin. He stopped at the other side, panting. The fresh air felt good. Some of the wooziness left him.
The house was dirty white, the shingles cracked near the front door. He knocked, then rang the door bell. After a moment the porch light went on, and he stood back in the light and waved. The door opened, and through the screen he saw that she had changed into a sweat suit. She said, “Yes?”
“I’m Bobby. I called from Seattle about Jake Ahn?”
Her face immediately lost its curiosity, hardening. She frowned and said, “So?”
Bobby saw that she was a mix, a little bit of Chinese and white—her eyes were set wider than Jake’s, but she still had long straight black hair, and there was something about her cheekbones that made him think of Chinese people. He said, “I was passing through and wanted to ask you about him.”
“How’d you get my address?”
“Information. You’re listed.”
“I haven’t seen him in years.”
“I know, but I’m trying to find him, and don’t got any leads.”
“Why are you trying to find him?”
His bladder seemed to bubble up and he suppressed a wince. He said, “He owes me money and just took off.”
She nodded. “Too bad.”
“All I’m asking is maybe you know where he might go, who he knows, that stuff.”
“How’d you find out about me?”
Bobby said, “A girl he used to go out with said he mentioned you.”
“Jake mentioned me to another girlfriend?”
He shrugged. “Just a couple minutes, that’s all I need.” He felt another pain in his bladder and he stiffened.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah. It was a long ride down here.”
She studied him, looking him up and down. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow, during my lunch break.”
He said, “Yeah, that’s fine. I was just passing through…” He paused. The pain in his bladder got worse, and he inhaled sharply. Shit. Something was wrong. He said, “Tomorrow at lunch? Where are you working?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I just need to rest. So, maybe twelve tomorrow? You work around here?”
“Downtown. Right next to City Hall. The Fedco building. Rodale Insurance. I can meet you in the downstairs lobby.”
He said, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He needed to piss badly, and was going to run into the bushes, but he slipped on the steps and stumbled backwards, hitting his head on a flower pot and crashing against the edge of the brick steps. He bounced off the corner and fell heavily onto the ground. The wind was knocked out of him and he couldn’t move. He stared up at the porch light above. A moth kept flying into the bulb.
“Jesus! Are you all right?” She opened the screen door and hurried down to him.
He lay still, blinking. He slowed his breath, and waited for his lungs to recover. His skull throbbed. He had landed flat on his back, and for some reason it hadn’t hurt. But his bladder burned. She leaned over him, blocking the light, and said, “Hey! Should I call an ambulance?”
He shook his head.
“Oh my God, can you move? Are you okay?”
He turned his head towards her, looking at her upside down. Her hair fell around her face, the edges glowing from the light directly above her. He stared. “You’re very pretty,” he said hoarsely.
She drew back, and the light hit his eyes, blinding him. He heard her say, “Oh God, you’re delirious.”
“I’m okay.” He sat up slowly. The pain in his bladder softened. “I just slipped.”
“Do you need help?”
“I’m okay.” He pulled himself up, rubbed the back of his head, then saw the broken flower pot littered along the steps, black soil clumped around him. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“Yeah, yeah. I just need to get back to my hotel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” she said. “Shouldn’t you rest a second? Do you need anything?”
He said, “I’d really like to use your bathroom, if that’s all right.”