GONE DARK

Skelton watches Larsen walk around him and take a seat at the bar on his right. Doesn't recognize him. Working dark for 18 months does something deep to the man. Hair and mustache grown out. Looks like he drives stagecoach as one of those Cival War reenactors. Eyes sunken dead. Only shoulder holstered .45 gives him away. Every cop carries nines but Larsen. Dicks in CID hate his ass. Known he smokes and snorts with the Techwood crowd. Known he's passed on half dozen collars in his 18 months. Dark age made him narrow. Made him reevaluate the book. Not spoken with Captain Hal Foote in six months plus. Figured him dead til Skelton reconnected on Roja case. Tailed tamale for three weeks and day. She turn to vapor and here come Larsen. He's got FYI on Roja before brass thought to even ask. Didn't want to ask. Didn't want to extend the hand. Didn't want its hand shit soiled with Larsen's.

Larsen's into his third cigarette. Rain's driving. Pounding the roof. Slapping big glass windows. HOT DONUTS sign flickers. Inside lights flicker. Big black waitress pours two coffees. Lipstick is bright pink and makes her lips look three times bigger than they are. She's got a cigarette going behind the bar. Looks like the bar's on fire. Smoke's rising out behind it. That botherin y'all, she asks. She don't wait on their response. She just smiles big and pink and pushes their coffees in front of them. Her thumbnail is size of a butterknife and speckled with glitter and says AINT NO MOUNTAIN HIGH NOUGH in lazy cursive. Coffee spills over mugs' lips and she apologizes and purses her lips bigger and pinker.

Well aint you look like fucken Yanni, Skelton says.

Roja's deadern hell, Larsen says.

How you know that, Skelton says.

Found her nailed to a tree in Piedmont Park, Larsen says. Screwdriver through her left eye.

Chrise, Skelton says. What it look like?

Bout eight inches long, Larsen says. Acrylic handle. Philips head.

Not the screwdriver, asshole, Skelton says. The fucken scene.

Clean fars I can tell, Larsen says.

Guy's a fucken maniac, Skelton says.

Or a carpenter, Larsen says.

Skelton laughs and takes one of Larsen's cigarettes.

Need to reach out to Foote, Skelton says.

Fuck im, Larsen says.

Says same of you, Skelton says.

Waitress puts paper box down in front of Larsen and he opens it and eats one of the donuts.

Makes my teeth hurt, he says. Nothin like these. Like eatin clouds of bacon but it's sweet and melts while your teeth mash it up. Can see why all these Ponce whores hit it. Like havin damn bump on the cheap. Eat half dozen of these an you walkin into walls and babblin bout the Jesus.

I'd been lyin if I said I aint seen it, Skelton says.

You seen yonder hombre in white two door out there, Larsen says.

Skelton looks out the window.

That truck, he says.

Only white two door out there, Larsen says.

Sure is, Skelton says.

Roja's pimp Apolinar, Larsen says. Been followin me for most the day. Switched cars twice on him and he's still a shadow. He's good.

What you make him for, Skelton says.

A killer, Larsen says.

How so, Skelton says.

Big shithouse Mexican boss enough to make it in Mechanicsville without gettin got by all them made niggers has got to be worth dead weight in tragedy, Larsen says. He's one of them doers. He's not one to get done. Bad shit surrounds that motherfucker. Got to beleive Concepcion Marquez was more than supplementary income. He got no reason to follow me so long.

Lights flicker.

Concepcy what, Skelton says.

Concepcion, Larsen says. Roja's given.

Larsen looks at the box. Skelton's not touched a donut.

Lights flicker.

You mind if I eat yours, Larsen says.

I don't see any hombre in that two door, Skelton says.

Y'all want more coffee, big black waitress asks.

They nod. Rain picks up. Lights flicker. Lightning breaks jagged on the sky. Transformer blows across Ponce and both Larsen and Skelton are off their stools when the lights go black. What in God's name, the waitress says. Sparks fly across the street. Cars stop. People look. Apolinar comes calmly through the doorway, black duster soaked with rain, TEC-9s in both hands popping wide open.