annoyance as Caleb once again settled into his sirening howls. “Does he look fucked up? Spaced out?”
“I guess...I don’t - ”
“ - I do. I heard there was molly doing the rounds in that school – you know, like MDMA? That or ketamine. Can you believe that shit’s back?”
“It is?”
“You’re probably too young to remember,” said Stacy. “Things I thought would never come back: stirrup pants, Jem and getting all fucked up on cat tranquilizers. Don’t let him go anywhere, okay? I’m coming round to kill him.”
“Okay.”
Blue hung up and glared briefly at the flickering light. If she wasn’t losing her mind then she could have sworn the thing was swinging gently, the moving shadows lending a queasy, seasick feeling that – being unexpected – was so much worse than anything she had experienced on Gabe’s boat.
Axl was still in the living room, shivering under his towels. The record had reached the end of side one but the arm had not gone back and the needle continued to hiss and whisper in a noteless groove that only served to underscore the steady sound of the rain.
“I’ll make you some tea,” said Blue, thinking it would probably make things worse if she told him she’d just called his mother. “Are you feeling warmer?”
He nodded but didn’t speak.
She went into the kitchen and realized why the sound of the rain had seemed louder; the back door was wide open, the tatty screen hanging askew. There was a stripe of wet salt across the threshold, leading her eye to the box that lay on its side, the cardboard already puckering in the wet.
Blue raced out into the rain and stopped short. Gabe’s car was gone and the dry spots beneath it were already as slick and wet as everything else out there. Other than the spilled salt, there was no sign of Gloria.
“Oh shit ,” she said.
*
The precinct was like the embodiment of all the reasons why people hated Florida.
The AC didn’t work nearly as well as it needed to, the bathrooms held a lingering odor of stinkroaches and everyone was mad as hell over some kind of traffic infraction. An elderly woman from New Jersey was talking loudly on a cellphone, while her husband recovered from a nose bleed. “...well, no - I think he’s staunched it, but I don’t wanna go to the emergency room until I get this dickhead on file , Janine. I heard the highway cops down here were useless.”
A bewigged Hispanic hooker sat nearby, giving them the sideeye and huffing irritably every time the woman’s jackhammer voice started up again. Opposite her was a scowling middle aged man in shirtsleeves and a tie; he was trying to avoid all eye contact by energetically fanning himself with a pamphlet about the dangers of texting while driving.
All in all, a typical Miami scene. Garnish with giant bugs and lousy drivers and serve hot and sweaty.
Joe drooped at Gabe’s side, his long legs folded under the plastic chair, his blond hair dark with sweat. He didn’t speak and Gabe had a good idea what he was thinking; coming here had felt like the right thing to do, but now that they were here they realized there was nothing to do. Police stations and hospitals - these were just places where you waited when the world fell apart.
It was like a buzz in the background, this texture of boredom. An anxious kind of boredom, the blank spaces of time only serving to intensify worry and fear, a feedback loop of yawning emptiness and unpleasant consequences. All the way into Miami there had been a strange smell on the wind, something sickly sweet and ruined, and carrying with it the tang of trouble. Big trouble, like the brackish whiff of a hurricane moving towards the coast.
The hooker crossed her legs and the man with the tie tossed his head in disgust. She caught Gabe’s eye and gave him a glittering wink, her eyelid shimmering like an iridescent fish. He smiled politely back, realizing there was more than met the eye here. Her thighs were broad and her jaw strong,
“I guess...I don’t - ”
“ - I do. I heard there was molly doing the rounds in that school – you know, like MDMA? That or ketamine. Can you believe that shit’s back?”
“It is?”
“You’re probably too young to remember,” said Stacy. “Things I thought would never come back: stirrup pants, Jem and getting all fucked up on cat tranquilizers. Don’t let him go anywhere, okay? I’m coming round to kill him.”
“Okay.”
Blue hung up and glared briefly at the flickering light. If she wasn’t losing her mind then she could have sworn the thing was swinging gently, the moving shadows lending a queasy, seasick feeling that – being unexpected – was so much worse than anything she had experienced on Gabe’s boat.
Axl was still in the living room, shivering under his towels. The record had reached the end of side one but the arm had not gone back and the needle continued to hiss and whisper in a noteless groove that only served to underscore the steady sound of the rain.
“I’ll make you some tea,” said Blue, thinking it would probably make things worse if she told him she’d just called his mother. “Are you feeling warmer?”
He nodded but didn’t speak.
She went into the kitchen and realized why the sound of the rain had seemed louder; the back door was wide open, the tatty screen hanging askew. There was a stripe of wet salt across the threshold, leading her eye to the box that lay on its side, the cardboard already puckering in the wet.
Blue raced out into the rain and stopped short. Gabe’s car was gone and the dry spots beneath it were already as slick and wet as everything else out there. Other than the spilled salt, there was no sign of Gloria.
“Oh shit ,” she said.
*
The precinct was like the embodiment of all the reasons why people hated Florida.
The AC didn’t work nearly as well as it needed to, the bathrooms held a lingering odor of stinkroaches and everyone was mad as hell over some kind of traffic infraction. An elderly woman from New Jersey was talking loudly on a cellphone, while her husband recovered from a nose bleed. “...well, no - I think he’s staunched it, but I don’t wanna go to the emergency room until I get this dickhead on file , Janine. I heard the highway cops down here were useless.”
A bewigged Hispanic hooker sat nearby, giving them the sideeye and huffing irritably every time the woman’s jackhammer voice started up again. Opposite her was a scowling middle aged man in shirtsleeves and a tie; he was trying to avoid all eye contact by energetically fanning himself with a pamphlet about the dangers of texting while driving.
All in all, a typical Miami scene. Garnish with giant bugs and lousy drivers and serve hot and sweaty.
Joe drooped at Gabe’s side, his long legs folded under the plastic chair, his blond hair dark with sweat. He didn’t speak and Gabe had a good idea what he was thinking; coming here had felt like the right thing to do, but now that they were here they realized there was nothing to do. Police stations and hospitals - these were just places where you waited when the world fell apart.
It was like a buzz in the background, this texture of boredom. An anxious kind of boredom, the blank spaces of time only serving to intensify worry and fear, a feedback loop of yawning emptiness and unpleasant consequences. All the way into Miami there had been a strange smell on the wind, something sickly sweet and ruined, and carrying with it the tang of trouble. Big trouble, like the brackish whiff of a hurricane moving towards the coast.
The hooker crossed her legs and the man with the tie tossed his head in disgust. She caught Gabe’s eye and gave him a glittering wink, her eyelid shimmering like an iridescent fish. He smiled politely back, realizing there was more than met the eye here. Her thighs were broad and her jaw strong,
Similar Books
