The Night Crew

freaking out with work. Who knows what happened to him since you last saw him—he might’ve cracked.’’
    ‘‘Not Clark,’’ Anna said stubbornly.
    ‘‘Yeah? You’ve heard his voice,’’ Creek said. ‘‘Are you sure it wasn’t Clark’s? You say it’s familiar . . .’’
    She opened her mouth to say no, it wasn’t Clark’s—but then she thought, maybe it is . The voice was a middle baritone, and Clark’s was close to that; and she hadn’t heard Clark’s voice for years. She closed her eyes, listened to Clark talk. The same?
    She opened her eyes. ‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s not the same.’’
    ‘‘Bullshit,’’ said Creek, because Creek could read her mind. ‘‘You don’t know.’’ Anna was furious with Creek for talking about Clark. He didn’t understand what Clark had been going through when the trouble started: the stress, the politics of the music business, and where they could push an ambitious person, especially when that person was young, confused, exhausted.
    And then she thought to herself, Really? Is that really what you think about Clark? She’d never really gotten over their relationship, even admitted it to herself. Not because she couldn’t, but because of the indefinite way it had ended, ‘‘I love you but . . .’’ Jake came out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of toast and jelly. They were at Anna’s house, Anna changing into her work clothes. ‘‘You don’t go wandering off through the crowd—Creek said you ran all the way up and down through that hotel when Jacob died, I don’t want you getting away from the escorts.’’
    ‘‘Yeah, yeah,’’ she said, distracted. He put the plate down and caught her around the waist and said, ‘‘Hey. Listen to me. We’ll work out this Clark business later—but for now, we gotta keep your ass alive.’’ He squeezed her butt, but she wiggled away.
    ‘‘Are you still pissed?’’ Harper asked.
    ‘‘Oh, I’m not pissed. Wait a minute: yeah, I am pissed, at Creek.’’
    ‘‘Creek is trying to take care of you,’’ Harper said. He pushed the plate toward her, and she took a piece of jelly toast.
    ‘‘I was thinking—I was hoping—that I’d never have to deal with the Clark thing,’’ Anna said to him. ‘‘Maybe it’d just fade away. It sorta was, but . . . I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t.’’
    ‘‘Are you still in love with him?’’
    ‘‘No, I don’t think so. But I was in love with him. And there was never any end-point; I couldn’t ever say, ‘Well, that’s over with, now I can do something else.’ I needed an end-point.’’
    ‘‘We haven’t known each other very long, but I never would have seen you this way,’’ Harper said, his face intently serious. ‘‘I would’ve thought that when you broke off with somebody, that’d be it: and you’d never think about him again.’’
    ‘‘Oh, no,’’ she said, as serious as he. ‘‘With a real relationship, I’d think about it forever. I’ll think about you forever, no matter what happens.’’
    ‘‘Really?’’
    ‘‘Really,’’ she said. ‘‘Forever.’’ Louis showed up a half hour later, leading a ratty-looking, dark-haired man, unshaven with a heavy shock of black hair that fell down over his oval face. He wore a green army field jacket from the sixties, with a faded name tag that said Ward.
    ‘‘Jimmy Coughlin,’’ he said, shaking Anna’s hand and peering at Harper. ‘‘You’re Jake Harper.’’
    ‘‘Yeah,’’ Harper said. He reached out and touched the name tag on Coughlin’s jacket. ‘‘Who’s Ward?’’
    ‘‘Fuck if I know,’’ Coughlin said cheerfully. He looked around the living room. ‘‘We ready?’’
    ‘‘You know what you’re doing?’’ Anna asked.
    ‘‘Sure, no problem,’’ he said. ‘‘I used to pretend I was a news guy and shoot riots and raids and shit.’’
    ‘‘Let me get my jacket,’’ Anna said. Coughlin drove, not fast, but expertly, using all three rearview mirrors. There were three tracking cars, he said, one in front and two behind. Louis sat in back, in his regular chair, monitoring the radios; when Anna looked out the passenger side window, she could almost pretend that this past week hadn’t happened.
    ‘‘Which way?’’ Coughlin asked.
    ‘‘Let’s sort of loaf up the PCH, and then catch Sunset where it comes down, and go back east,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Play it by ear.’’
    Coughlin nodded, took a small hand