something—knocked against the driver’s-side window.
For the second time that evening Jason nearly jumped out of his own skin. He looked over, through the closed window, and saw a thin, ragged-looking woman standing there. Jason thought she was homeless. Her hair was cut short, almost in a buzz, and she wore an army jacket over a stained long-underwear shirt.
Jason thought about driving away, even going so far as to place his hand on the gear knob, but the woman made a gesture asking him to roll down the window. She made the gesture again, and then she said something that sounded like his name.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Roll it down, Jason,” she said.
No doubt about it. She knew his name.
He lowered the window. “Do I—?”
“Well, well,” the woman said. “Jason Danvers. Mr. Big Shot.”She spoke with a slight lisp, and Jason saw that she was missing two front teeth. “You actually rolled the window down for me.”
Jason studied the face. He saw the deep lines, the sunken eyes. But there was something familiar there, something from the past that nagged at his mind.
“You don’t remember me?” she asked. “Figures.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Rose? Rose Holland?”
“That’s right, Fancy Boy. You remember me from high school, don’t you?”
“Sure. It took a moment.”
“I look different, don’t I? Strung out, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Right,” she said. “You don’t travel in my circles.”
“I didn’t in high school either,” Jason said. “You were popular, more popular than me. Weren’t you—”
“Yes, I was on the homecoming court. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Jason said. “What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you that,” Rose said. “But I bet we’re looking for the same thing. Do you know what that is?”
Jason wanted to say:
Drugs.
But he didn’t think Rose would appreciate him making assumptions about her, so he didn’t answer.
“Are you looking for your asshole sister?” Rose asked.
Jason’s heart sped up. “Yes, I am. Have you seen her?”
“Where is she?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason said. “That’s why I’m looking for her. She was here earlier tonight. If you see her—”
“Can it.” Rose stuck her face into the car, so that when she spoke, Jason felt her spittle hit his face.
“Hey.” Jason leaned back.
“I came by your house earlier today looking for that bitch sister of yours.”
“She’s not at our house. I was just there.”
“I know. I left a message, though.”
“What message?”
“But I’ll give the same one to you, and you can pass it on when you see her.” Rose poked Jason in the chest, her eyes still angry. “Tell her to stay away from my man.”
“Who’s your man?” Jason asked.
Rose stepped back. She straightened up and tugged on her army jacket as though suddenly concerned about her own appearance. “You’re so precious and stupid,” she said. “You don’t know who anybody is.”
“Who is he?” Jason said, his own anger rising. “Who is Hayden with?”
Rose tilted her head to one side. “My man,” she said. “Jesse Dean Pratt.” She spit once on the ground, then turned and started off into the night.
Jason pushed his door open and stepped out. “Rose? Wait.”
She kept walking.
“Rose? If you see Hayden, tell her I’m looking for her.”
Rose slowed for a moment, turned toward Jason, and casually flipped him the bird. Then she kept walking away, and Jason decided it was best to let her go into the darkness.
* * *
Jason drove down his street. When he passed the Nelsons’ house, just before turning into their driveway, he winced. He thought back over the events of the evening—the perfectly laid-out cat on the back porch and Rose’s statement that she had left a message at the house. Had Sierra been right? Was Pogo’s death related to Hayden, specifically Rose’s search for Hayden?
Jason felt a little nauseated at
For the second time that evening Jason nearly jumped out of his own skin. He looked over, through the closed window, and saw a thin, ragged-looking woman standing there. Jason thought she was homeless. Her hair was cut short, almost in a buzz, and she wore an army jacket over a stained long-underwear shirt.
Jason thought about driving away, even going so far as to place his hand on the gear knob, but the woman made a gesture asking him to roll down the window. She made the gesture again, and then she said something that sounded like his name.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Roll it down, Jason,” she said.
No doubt about it. She knew his name.
He lowered the window. “Do I—?”
“Well, well,” the woman said. “Jason Danvers. Mr. Big Shot.”She spoke with a slight lisp, and Jason saw that she was missing two front teeth. “You actually rolled the window down for me.”
Jason studied the face. He saw the deep lines, the sunken eyes. But there was something familiar there, something from the past that nagged at his mind.
“You don’t remember me?” she asked. “Figures.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Rose? Rose Holland?”
“That’s right, Fancy Boy. You remember me from high school, don’t you?”
“Sure. It took a moment.”
“I look different, don’t I? Strung out, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Right,” she said. “You don’t travel in my circles.”
“I didn’t in high school either,” Jason said. “You were popular, more popular than me. Weren’t you—”
“Yes, I was on the homecoming court. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Jason said. “What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you that,” Rose said. “But I bet we’re looking for the same thing. Do you know what that is?”
Jason wanted to say:
Drugs.
But he didn’t think Rose would appreciate him making assumptions about her, so he didn’t answer.
“Are you looking for your asshole sister?” Rose asked.
Jason’s heart sped up. “Yes, I am. Have you seen her?”
“Where is she?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason said. “That’s why I’m looking for her. She was here earlier tonight. If you see her—”
“Can it.” Rose stuck her face into the car, so that when she spoke, Jason felt her spittle hit his face.
“Hey.” Jason leaned back.
“I came by your house earlier today looking for that bitch sister of yours.”
“She’s not at our house. I was just there.”
“I know. I left a message, though.”
“What message?”
“But I’ll give the same one to you, and you can pass it on when you see her.” Rose poked Jason in the chest, her eyes still angry. “Tell her to stay away from my man.”
“Who’s your man?” Jason asked.
Rose stepped back. She straightened up and tugged on her army jacket as though suddenly concerned about her own appearance. “You’re so precious and stupid,” she said. “You don’t know who anybody is.”
“Who is he?” Jason said, his own anger rising. “Who is Hayden with?”
Rose tilted her head to one side. “My man,” she said. “Jesse Dean Pratt.” She spit once on the ground, then turned and started off into the night.
Jason pushed his door open and stepped out. “Rose? Wait.”
She kept walking.
“Rose? If you see Hayden, tell her I’m looking for her.”
Rose slowed for a moment, turned toward Jason, and casually flipped him the bird. Then she kept walking away, and Jason decided it was best to let her go into the darkness.
* * *
Jason drove down his street. When he passed the Nelsons’ house, just before turning into their driveway, he winced. He thought back over the events of the evening—the perfectly laid-out cat on the back porch and Rose’s statement that she had left a message at the house. Had Sierra been right? Was Pogo’s death related to Hayden, specifically Rose’s search for Hayden?
Jason felt a little nauseated at
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