Hey. Wake up.”
Bitterness hit me as I swallowed the residue of vomit that coated my mouth. I opened my eyes and took in the depressing bedroom at Jim’s cathouse. Black-and-white framed photos decorated the wall opposite the bed. One showed a nude woman in a Panama hat, posing in what I guess was meant to be an erotic way. In another picture she was in a chair with her legs crossed, and in the other she stood like an Instagram model, one knee in front of the other, leaning forward slightly and pushing her breasts together with her arms. I think the images were supposed to be classy, but they made the room feel even seedier, and they clashed with the rainbow zigzag pattern of the bedspread.
My head throbbed as I turned to see Felicity sitting next to me. She’d changed out of the tiny red dress and was in skinny black jeans and a T-shirt that had the word Vibes emblazoned in graffiti script.
She’d removed her blond wig to reveal her natural auburn, which had been cut short. Her eyes were a clear amber and seemed a little less sad than I remembered.
“Your buddy paid for the room until ten,” she said. “It’s ten thirty.”
“Jim?” I said, almost choking on the word. “Jim?” I tried again after clearing my throat.
“Your friend’s gone,” she replied. “He got into a fight with his companion. They threw him out. Wanted to get rid of you, too, but you were out like a baby, and I didn’t think you’d be any trouble. You can usually tell the bad ones.”
“Thanks. He’s an asshole, but—”
“When you get to know him, right?” she interrupted.
“No. He’s an asshole, but when he drinks, he becomes a sour old bastard.”
We both smiled.
“I thought you were going to defend him,” she said. “That’s what men usually do. Like you’re all members of the same fraternity or something. Guy comes in here and gets rough and his buddies are all, ‘You must have provoked him. He’s a family man.’ And they never ask themselves whether they really know their friend at all.”
“You get many family men in here?” I asked.
“You have no idea. You a family man?”
I shook my head instinctively and immediately regretted it. I could feel my brain bouncing off my skull. “I mean, I have a kid, but we’re divorced. Me and her mom.”
“Do you remember what you told me last night?” she asked.
Panic shook off my headache, and I sat up and tried to fight the wave of nausea that washed up from my treacherous gut. Had I confessed to the murders? Had I spilled what was troubling me? I tried to focus on her face, but my eyes were defective, weeping and my vision vague.
“You don’t remember, do you?” she went on. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Men come in here to satisfy an animal urge, and when they’re done most of them want to forget the animal ever existed.”
“What did I say?”
“I’ll tell you if it comes true,” she replied.
“Listen, can I buy another half hour?” I asked.
Her face fell a little.
“I don’t mean…” I trailed off. “I mean, I’m not even sure I can stand, let alone…”
She brightened.
“It’s three hundred bucks for room and companion,” she said.
“For thirty minutes?” I couldn’t help myself and wondered how much Jim had handed over for the two of us.
“The owner gets fifty,” Felicity said. “I make five hundred an hour, which is just enough for my pocketbook, but way too little for my soul. This one’s on me, though. I’ll fix it so you can stay for another hour.” She got to her feet. “You look like you could use some kindness.”
I laughed. She was right; I needed kindness, but not money. I reached into my pocket for my billfold.
“Please don’t go,” I said, peeling off a trio of C-notes. “I don’t want to be alone.”
She looked at my money, then at me. I leaned over and placed the money on a bedside cabinet next to a bowl of condoms and a large red vibrator. Should I have been embarrassed? I was too hungover to know.
“I’ve got to be somewhere, but I can give you thirty minutes,” Felicity said, returning to sit on the bed.
“Thanks.”
We sat for a few moments, her looking bored, me trying to fight the spin of the earth and resist the urge to vomit.
“This is fun,” she said, her voice flat.
“Sorry,” I replied. “I’m not great company right now. How did you end up here?”
“How did you end up here?” she fired back.
“Nicely done.” I smiled. She was sharp, and I guessed her line of work had taught her not to take any shit.
“Thank you.”
“Do you enjoy it?” I asked.
Her face crunched in disgust. “No. Not that. Don’t ask me that. It’s too clichéd. And it’s rude. Would you ask a stranger about their sex life?”
“No, but I would ask them about their job.”
“Nicely done,” she replied.
“Thank you.”
She thought for a moment.
“Did you enjoy everyone you’ve had sex with?”
“I thought we weren’t allowed to ask that,” I countered.
“But you know the answer.”
I nodded. “I guess so.”
“So, you never need to ask the question. Guys do it to exert power, not because they’re really interested.”
“What do you do when you’re not here?”
“I’m studying to be an accountant.” She registered my expression. “Don’t look so surprised. Lots of the girls here have their eyes on better things, but if you come from a poor family, screwed around at school, and don’t have connections, where else are you going to make five hundred an hour?”
“I guess. I just don’t see you as an accounting type. That’s all.”
“What the hell is an accounting type?”
“You’re too—”
“If you say I’m too pretty I will punch you in the mouth.”
I thought she was joking but couldn’t be sure, so I fell silent.
“I know you think I’m pretty because you kept saying so last night.”
“Is that the thing?”
“No, that’s not the thing,” she replied. “But it’s related.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Be patient,” she said. “And tell me why women aren’t allowed to be pretty and smart.”
“Nice change of subject.” I paused. “Maybe I wasn’t about to make a comment about how pretty you are. Maybe I was going to say you look too smart to be punching numbers all day.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. My heart pounded, but I couldn’t tell whether it was the hangover and nausea or the attraction I felt. She was smart, funny, kind, and, yes, pretty.
“You’ve lived on the outer reaches of existence and seen the edges of humanity, and it’s changed you,” I said. “I can see it in your eyes. Same as mine.”
The room fell silent as she studied me for a moment.
“You’re a strange one,” she said at last.
“That I am,” I conceded. “And so are you.”
We fell into silence again. I heard indistinct sounds coming from somewhere else in the building, and a car passed outside. Did she like me? Did I deserve to be liked? Was she just serving out her time for the notes I’d laid down? Money was the great corrupter. It skewed everything. Made intentions warped and unclear, like reflections in a carnival hall of mirrors.
“So, you think you’re pretty?” I asked, and she feigned outrage.
“I’m not that dumb. Of course I know I’m pretty. Hazard of the job.”
“I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about your job?”
She tilted her head, as if studying me afresh. “You’re almost as funny as you were last night.”
“I don’t remember being funny at all.”
“But you were. Until you lost steam. Then you put your head on my lap, and I stroked your hair until you fell asleep.”
For some reason the revelation cheered me. Even if I couldn’t remember it, I’d had the kindness I’d craved.
“I figured you were paying for some human contact. I think that’s the other reason a lot of men come here. It’s not just about the animal. They’re lonely.”
“As long as I wasn’t a total asshole,” I said.
“Far from it.” Her smile was full of mischief.
“What did I say?” I asked.
My ringing phone saved her from having to respond.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“So polite,” she replied as I answered the call.
“That guy you were talking about last night,” Jim said without any greeting. “Walter Glaze.” My gut tightened at the name. What the hell had I been saying? “There’s some kind of thing for him. I’m outside the cathouse.”
“What? Now?” I asked.
“Yeah, now. Dry your dick and get dressed,” he commanded before hanging up.
“Something wrong?” Felicity asked.
“I have to go,” I replied, forcing my aching body to rise.
I ignored my dizziness and the cold sweat nausea that sent bile into my mouth.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. “I don’t have to leave for fifteen. I was enjoying our conversation.”
“Sorry to be a drag,” I said, staggering to the door.
“I don’t do this for everyone,” she said, “but let me give you my number.” She took my phone from my hand before I could reply, and I watched her type her name and number into my contacts. “Call me when you want another deep and meaningful conversation.”
“Okay,” I replied without really thinking.
I spilled out of the house and oozed into Jim’s Continental, which was parked opposite.
“Man, you stink,” he said, switching the AC to max.
“Morning,” I replied.
“There’s nothing good about it,” he snapped, and I almost pointed out I hadn’t used the word good but thought better of it. “You think I wouldn’t remember you telling me my car had been used in a homicide?”
Shit.
Oh shit.
He knew.
“We’re gonna find out who this guy really was and what they know about who killed him.”
“But the cops—”
“Fuck the cops,” Jim said, all teeth and burning eyes. “I don’t give a shit about the cops. If this guy was connected, I don’t want his gangland buddies coming for me.”
“I don’t think he was connected,” I said, remembering all the incriminating websites that had been deleted. What had I told Jim? What warped view of reality had he remembered?
“I don’t give a shit what you think,” he snarled. “I want to know who knows what about who killed him. And if anyone knows too much, I’m going to fucking end you.”
Friends sometimes say they’re going to kill each other. I’m gonna kill you, friendly punch, smile, and more jokes. This wasn’t that. This was a real threat.
I felt sicker than I had at any point that morning. I wished I was back in the cathouse with my head in Felicity’s lap, her fingers running through my hair, soothing me to a better place.
I didn’t want to be in this car with the devil, but I was, and he growled at me before putting the giant hellcraft into gear and taking me away.