Talker

them, but she’d gone
    into her old jewelry box instead and come up with six diamond
    studs—two of them real—and one onyx stud for his nose. She’d
    also been happy to find some peppermint oil and alcohol to soothe
    and disinfect the whole works, and he’d held an icepack to his face
    while she’d done his hair and eyes.
    His shirt was blinding.
    Neon-pink polyester. He wasn’t sure which era it was from—
    seventies, eighties, sometime in the future, he had no idea. But it
    had a wide lapel collar and black buttons, and it went real y wel
    with the black-checkered golf pants that had come out of the
    neighbor’s stash of hand-me-downs as wel . And the golf pants
    looked much better pegged (thank you again, Aunt Lyndie) and
    shortened in the crotch and stuffed into combat boots that (unlike
    the others in the club) had actually seen real combat.
    How’m I doing, Virginia? Am I sel ing it to the world?
    More importantly, would he sel it to Talker?
    He could only hope.
    It was dark by the time he got back to Sacramento, and
    G atsby’s Nick was hopping—it was crowded enough that Jed
    almost didn’t notice him until he was halfway inside.
    “Brian?” There was some shock, some incredulity, but no
    laughter. Brian put Jed on the short list of people he’d beat
    someone up for.
    “Hey, Jed.” Brian smiled weakly, and Jed cocked his head,
    seeing right through him.
    “You’re here to stop Talker, aren’t you?”
    Brian looked away and put his hands in the pockets of the golf
    pants. They were so tight he was sure Jed could probably look hard
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    59
    and see that he’d been circumcised, so he was glad Jed didn’t
    swing his way. “Someone has to,” he muttered.
    Jed nodded. “You’re right. He’s gonna lose his job if this shit
    doesn’t stop.”
    Brian looked inside the club—lots of male bodies dancing (a
    few females, there with friends)—lots of snuggling and pressing
    together, lots of noise and a swelter of heat and motion and light.
    He couldn’t help himself. He shuddered. Talker would fit right in
    here, but not Brian.
    “You wouldn’t know if it’s started yet. Tonight, I mean?”
    Jed shook his head. “He gets off about an hour before we
    close down—that’s when he’s been doing his bathroom thing.”
    Brian looked at his watch and shuddered. O h G od. That was
    two hours. He had to sit in there for two hours, with sweaty palms
    and a real dislike for grunge-metal/techno-pop hybrid music, while
    strange men tried to grab his ass? (He was not being vain. He’d
    been groped twice while he’d stopped and talked to Jed.)
    “I can wait in the car,” he said decisively, turning to walk away,
    and Jed stopped him with a hard-fingered hand on the arm.
    “But if you do that, I can’t buy you dinner and tel you when
    he’s going in to the bathroom,” Jed said softly, and Brian
    swallowed.
    “I don’t need dinner,” he lied. He’d left Lyndie’s before dinner
    (after saying hi to her boyfriend, of course, and wishing them both
    well), and he had maybe five dollars in his pocket. F ive dollars
    might buy him an iced tea—if he flirted nicely with the bartender.
    “Sure you do. I’ve got some comps, take one.”
    Brian swal owed, swal owed again, final y got his pride down in
    a lump. “O kay,” he muttered. “Thanks.”
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    Jed flashed a hand at the other bouncer to say he’d be back in
    a minute, then escorted Brian through that press of bodies.
    F ollowing Jed was actual y okay—he was like the ice-breaking
    prow of a great ship, except the ice was hot and sweaty and
    dancing in rhythm to the same beat that seemed to jerk Talker
    away from reality on a daily basis.
    Brian was parked in a corner of the bar, back in the shadows,
    and Jed was back in a minute with a salad and a sandwich—and a
    pitcher of soda.
    “He doesn’t work this section,” Jed hollered into his ear over
    the noise. “O dds are good he won’t see you. You let Trace here”—
    a nod at a handsome man with reddish hair, standing behind the
    bar—“take care of you, and wait. I’l keep an eye out for him and let
    you know when his shift is done.”
    Brian wanted to just shut up and huddle in the corner, but he
    had to ask one major favor. “Jed….” He looked at the guy
    helplessly. “Jed, I’ve got to be the first one in there, ’kay?”
    Jed nodded with understanding, putting a heavy hand on
    Brian’s shoulder before he turned to leave.