contract. Every week the hapless and half-assed belted their guts out, and every week the judges told them precisely how hapless and half-assed they were. It was a cavalcade of schadenfreude. Jesse found it appalling. I loved it. Of course I knew Shaun Kutner. He was infamous.
He saw it on my face, and his expression soured. ‘‘The one and only.’’
Twenty-six million people had watched it, live. Bright lights, raucous audience, the camera swooping across the stage. Shaun attacking a rock classic with angry authority. He worked the song, and worked himself up, and finished wet with perspiration. Not damp—sopping. With rings darkening his armpits, his shirt clinging to him like a leech, and rivulets streaming down his face and neck.
The judges weren’t shy. ‘‘Great vocal. But what’s with the sweating?’’
Curious now, I walked toward the door. He was the first tabloid headline I’d ever met: Sweaty Shaun Voted Off.
He raised his hands. ‘‘This isn’t the time. I’m jet-lagged, and we’re all grieving.’’
Jesus wept. He thought I wanted an autograph. The weird vibe returned, stronger.
‘‘Britt was my best buddy in Rock House prelims. This is devastating.’’
‘‘I didn’t know she was a contestant,’’ I said.
He jammed his hands into his pockets. ‘‘She got knocked out early, but she was my strongest backer. Before and after.’’
Inside the apartment voices approached, and a man said, ‘‘Who is it, Shaun?’’
His jade gaze held mine. ‘‘It’s Snoopy. From the alley.’’
The vibe twanged again, and I realized I’d seen him before, in person. But before I could say anything, a hand pulled the door wide. The tree trunk stood there. The muscles in his jaw were popping.
‘‘You want to talk about my daughter? You speak to me. Ted Gaines.’’
He had seen her body, I could tell. Though he was stump-solid, he looked as though a daisy cutter had torn up his insides. How he was still standing, I couldn’t imagine.
‘‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’’ I said.
‘‘You a friend of Brittany’s?’’
Behind him, the roommate dabbed at her nose with the tissue. ‘‘She came by Friday night. Around midnight, looking for P.J.’’
Gaines and Shaun shifted, seeming to fill the doorway. Shaun took his hands out of his pockets. Gaines’s eyes cooled.
‘‘What do you want with him?’’ he said.
Shaun said, ‘‘I bet she’s his lookout.’’
‘‘Not at all,’’ I said.
‘‘Yeah, you’re hanging around here so you can tell him when the coast is clear.’’ His gaze lengthened, past me, to the street. ‘‘Oh, man. It’s him.’’
Gaines stepped into the doorway. ‘‘Where?’’
‘‘The shithead. There.’’ He pushed out the door past me.
I turned. If P.J. had come back, he was in for it. But I saw no sign of him—and with awful certainty I understood. Shaun was charging toward my car.
Jesse had the phone pressed to his ear, baseball cap pulled low on his head. With sunset reflecting off the window, it was easy to make the mistake.
I moved. Gaines wrapped a hand around my arm. ‘‘No, you don’t.’’
‘‘That’s not P.J.’’ I tried to pull free.
‘‘He has to answer for this.’’
Shaun pounded down the walkway. I shouted Jesse’s name. Shaun steamed up to the car, yanked open the door, and grabbed Jesse by the arm. He heaved him out of the Explorer.
I saw Jesse slam to the ground. Then things flared solar white, and I was shoving Ted Gaines into the wall and running for the car. Shaun was standing over Jesse, his face crimson, shouting. ‘‘Bastard. Cocksucker.’’ He drew his leg back and kicked him in the ribs.
Blue light shot my vision. I felt Ted Gaines running behind me. Jesse was on his back on the dirt, and I saw that his leg was jammed between the door and the frame of the car. He couldn’t go anywhere and couldn’t get up. Shaun kept shouting. ‘‘Shit for brains. She’s dead on account of
He saw it on my face, and his expression soured. ‘‘The one and only.’’
Twenty-six million people had watched it, live. Bright lights, raucous audience, the camera swooping across the stage. Shaun attacking a rock classic with angry authority. He worked the song, and worked himself up, and finished wet with perspiration. Not damp—sopping. With rings darkening his armpits, his shirt clinging to him like a leech, and rivulets streaming down his face and neck.
The judges weren’t shy. ‘‘Great vocal. But what’s with the sweating?’’
Curious now, I walked toward the door. He was the first tabloid headline I’d ever met: Sweaty Shaun Voted Off.
He raised his hands. ‘‘This isn’t the time. I’m jet-lagged, and we’re all grieving.’’
Jesus wept. He thought I wanted an autograph. The weird vibe returned, stronger.
‘‘Britt was my best buddy in Rock House prelims. This is devastating.’’
‘‘I didn’t know she was a contestant,’’ I said.
He jammed his hands into his pockets. ‘‘She got knocked out early, but she was my strongest backer. Before and after.’’
Inside the apartment voices approached, and a man said, ‘‘Who is it, Shaun?’’
His jade gaze held mine. ‘‘It’s Snoopy. From the alley.’’
The vibe twanged again, and I realized I’d seen him before, in person. But before I could say anything, a hand pulled the door wide. The tree trunk stood there. The muscles in his jaw were popping.
‘‘You want to talk about my daughter? You speak to me. Ted Gaines.’’
He had seen her body, I could tell. Though he was stump-solid, he looked as though a daisy cutter had torn up his insides. How he was still standing, I couldn’t imagine.
‘‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’’ I said.
‘‘You a friend of Brittany’s?’’
Behind him, the roommate dabbed at her nose with the tissue. ‘‘She came by Friday night. Around midnight, looking for P.J.’’
Gaines and Shaun shifted, seeming to fill the doorway. Shaun took his hands out of his pockets. Gaines’s eyes cooled.
‘‘What do you want with him?’’ he said.
Shaun said, ‘‘I bet she’s his lookout.’’
‘‘Not at all,’’ I said.
‘‘Yeah, you’re hanging around here so you can tell him when the coast is clear.’’ His gaze lengthened, past me, to the street. ‘‘Oh, man. It’s him.’’
Gaines stepped into the doorway. ‘‘Where?’’
‘‘The shithead. There.’’ He pushed out the door past me.
I turned. If P.J. had come back, he was in for it. But I saw no sign of him—and with awful certainty I understood. Shaun was charging toward my car.
Jesse had the phone pressed to his ear, baseball cap pulled low on his head. With sunset reflecting off the window, it was easy to make the mistake.
I moved. Gaines wrapped a hand around my arm. ‘‘No, you don’t.’’
‘‘That’s not P.J.’’ I tried to pull free.
‘‘He has to answer for this.’’
Shaun pounded down the walkway. I shouted Jesse’s name. Shaun steamed up to the car, yanked open the door, and grabbed Jesse by the arm. He heaved him out of the Explorer.
I saw Jesse slam to the ground. Then things flared solar white, and I was shoving Ted Gaines into the wall and running for the car. Shaun was standing over Jesse, his face crimson, shouting. ‘‘Bastard. Cocksucker.’’ He drew his leg back and kicked him in the ribs.
Blue light shot my vision. I felt Ted Gaines running behind me. Jesse was on his back on the dirt, and I saw that his leg was jammed between the door and the frame of the car. He couldn’t go anywhere and couldn’t get up. Shaun kept shouting. ‘‘Shit for brains. She’s dead on account of
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