Invasion of Privacy

would benefit from that kind of show.”
    “Or something, any-thing, just to get his heart started. Then he started showing up with this executive-fox type, and I think his heart’s not the only thing pumping, you know what I mean?”
    “He ever talk with you about where he was from?”
    “From? Like, who cares? ”
    “How about where he might have worked before the photocopy shop?”
    Kira frowned, the nostril ring doing something that made her nose itself wiggle. “What does that have to do with Boyce’s company doing a righteous job?”
    Good question. “I got the impression from your father that you have to go next door sometimes about the Robinettes’ music noise.”
    A shrug, but this time with some theatricality to it. “Oh, that’s totally nothing. Daddy, he’s super hypersensitive to noise. So when Jamey cranks it up on the boom box, I go over and tell him to, like, cool it. No problem. He’s a good kid, and his mom’s nice too.”
    “They don’t mind you telling them to turn things down?”
    “From never. They understand, and they know that even I got to hear my sounds over this thing,” jiggling the Walkman, “which is just as well, now that we don’t have a stereo rack anymore.”
    “What happened to it?”
    “The sound system? My friend Jude—you saw her with me at the pub today?—Jude took me down to this extremely disgusto pawnshop, and we got money for it.”
    “You hocked the stereo?”
    Kira seemed to bristle. “Hey, man, ever try to eat a cassette? Daddy’s been out of work, like, unto years, and things are pretty tight.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    She eased off a bit. “Used to be, I’d go to the mall and actually buy something? These days, only time I’m there is to earn some bread, handing out fliers and stuff, like ‘Three for two, How about you, come to Papa Gino’s’— you know?”
    I nodded. “Back in high school, I had to work part-time jobs. Not an easy way to get through.”
    “Hey, it could be worse. I could be on drugs, or, like, virtually married the way Jude and some of the other juniors are. Or even flunking out, I suppose. But I’m not really a junior because I’m not in school this year, and I’m not in danger of flunking out because I already am out, you know? My dad’s sick, and he needs me. I know he can get around better than he lets on, with the braces and all, but he still needs me. And after my mom pulled the ripcord, I needed him so bad, I can give him some time now. Besides, it’s like I told Jude today when she drove me back.”
    “What did you say?”
    “Well, Jude’s doing this dance on me, how I shouldn’t be letting my father run my life, he’s the one who’s sick. So I say to her, ‘Hey, Jude’—wait.” Kira stared at me. “That’s just so totally weird. Here we’re talking about the Beatles like two seconds ago, and I know that’s one of their old songs, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Wow. The powers of the occult.” The flapping shrug-“Anyways, I say to Jude, ‘You really want me to trip you out, here’s my view of life to -tal. You got to live for the moment, because tomorrow’s only hours away, and it’s bound to be so much worse.’ ”
    “Not very optimistic.”
    Kira Elmendorf made a gesture with her hands that took in all around her. “Hey, man, you can tell me about it as they’re throwing us out of here and onto the street, okay?”

7

    A s Kira Elmendorf closed up behind me, I could hear rap music coming faintly from the Robinette unit. I walked over, thinking I still hadn’t learned very much about Andrew Dees, even with his neighbors telling me what they knew of him. Hope springing eternal, I pushed the button at number 43. The voice of the rapper jumped a few decibels, though still not very loud, when a young black guy swung open the door.
    He looked to be a little over both sixteen and six feet, in baggy basketball shorts, a baggy T-shirt, and a Miami Dolphins cap worn Yogi-style. A proud, handsome face framed steady brown eyes, not much hair showing under the cap. It would be a while before the flesh filled in the spaces around all the angular bones, though, and in the outfit he was wearing, a strong wind might have given him some difficulty.
    “Help you with something?”
    “My name’s John Cuddy. I’d like to speak to your mother if she’s around.”
    Just the steady eyes before over the shoulder with a loud, “Yo, Mom?”
    “What is it?”
    “Man here to see you.”
    “Jamey, I