12

Tom watched the guy step out of the bodega doorway and approach the cab. When he recognized Tom he flashed his Leon Spinks smile.

After last night’s uptown sortie, Kamal had offered his cell number. He said Tom could call anytime, and if he was on duty—which was most of the time—he would take Tom back to the bodega.

Tom was glad he’d taken the little slip of paper. He’d dug it out of his pants pocket and made the call.

After being all but kicked out of Gia’s this morning, he’d aimlessly wandered around the city. When he finally returned to the apartment he’d found the Lilitongue floating in Jack’s bedroom. He’d closed the door. Couldn’t stand to look at it.

He needed a lift. A big one.

“Lose your girlfriend again?” said the bodega man.

“Yeah, and it’s got me down.”

“Want me to find her again?”

“No, I think I need someone different tonight.”

“I know all sort of girls. What kind you like?”

“Someone to lift my spirits. She changes her name all the time. Last time I saw her she was going by a name that began with E, but she might have changed it to something that begins with X.”

“Ah, yes. I know such a one.”

Tom held up a fifty. “Will this do?”

“Yes. That good for two.”

“Two?”

That Spinks smile again. “Okay, since you are repeat customer, I give you three.”

Tom hadn’t been trying to haggle. He’d taken E a few times in the early nineties and had paid about fifty a tab. He’d liked the feeling, but not the emotional drop after the drug wore off.

As the man snatched the fifty he said, “You want else? We got other letters—A, MJ from TJ—and we got weather—snowflake and purple rain—and we got baseball, roofies, and Georgia Home Boy.”

Pretty much the same patter as last night.

“Just the girl.”

After that it was more déjà vu. A little talk into a two-way, then a jogging kid—different one from last night—tossing an envelope through the window.

Tom had swallowed one of the tabs before Kamal’s cab reached the end of the block.

By the time they reached the Upper West Side Tom was cruising. Waves of warmth and relaxation washed over him. The African music on Kamal’s radio that had bugged him on the uptown trip now sounded beautiful and perfect. Tiny bubbles swam in his vision, as if he were looking at the world through a glass of champagne.

Instead of going straight back to Jack’s, he had Kamal drop him off near where Broadway cut across Columbus Avenue. As he moved through the milling crowd he felt wonderful. So connected to all these strangers, connected to the point where he wanted to climb atop a lamppost and shout out his love for all of them.

Jesus God, when was the last time he’d felt this good about the world, about himself?

War, poverty, crime, violence, terrorism all so far away. So was Jack’s predicament. Even though he loved even Jack tonight—and really loved Gia—he couldn’t get worked up about his impending “escape.” The world, existence, were all too wonderful to allow anything really bad to happen.

Everything would be all right, everything would work out for the best.