Billy Summers

She hesitated, as if something had occurred to her and she’d changed her mind. ‘History, I think. Or sociology. Maybe even theater arts.’ Then, as if I had objected to the idea: ‘Not for acting, I wouldn’t want to do that, but the other stuff – sets and lighting and all that. There’s so much I’m curious about.’

I said that was good.

‘What about you, Billy? What’s your happily ever after?’

I didn’t have to think about it. ‘Since we’re dreaming, I’d like to write books.’ I tapped the laptop, which she was still holding. ‘Until I wrote that I didn’t know if I could. Now I do.’

‘What about this story? You could fix it up, turn it into fiction …’

I shook my head. ‘No one but you is ever going to see it, and that’s all right. It did its job. It opened the door. And I don’t have to give you an alias.’

Alice was quiet for awhile. Then she said, ‘This is Iowa, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Boring.’

I laughed. ‘I bet the lowans don’t think so.’

‘I bet they do. Especially the kids.’

I couldn’t argue with her there.

‘Tell me something.’

‘I will if I can.’

‘Why would a man in his sixties want to be with a girl as young as Rosalie is supposed to be? I don’t get that. It seems … I don’t know … grotesque.’

‘Insecurity? Or maybe trying to connect with the vitality he’s lost? Reaching back to his own youth and trying to connect with it?’

Alice considered these ideas, but only briefly. ‘Sounds like bullshit to me.’

It did to me too, actually.

‘I mean, think about it. What would Klerke talk about to a sixteen-year-old girl? Politics? World events? His TV stations? And what would she talk about to him? Cheerleading and her Facebook friends?’

‘I don’t think he’s looking for a long-term relationship. The deal was eight thousand for one hour.’

‘So it’s fucking for the sake of fucking. Taking for the sake of taking. That seems so hollow to me. So empty. And that little girl in Mexico …’

She fell silent and watched Iowa roll by. Then she said something, but so low I couldn’t make it out.

‘What?’

‘Monster.’ She was still looking out at the miles of dead corn. ‘I said monster.’

*

We spent Halloween night in South Bend, Indiana, and the first of November in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. As we checked in, my phone binged with a text from Giorgio.

GRusso: Petersen, RK’s assistant, wants a picture of Darren Byrne’s cousin, for identification purposes. Send it to judyb14455@aol.com. She will pass it on at no charge. She’d be happy if RK ran into some bad luck.

Petersen wanting a photo was worrisome but not surprising. He was Klerke’s on-site security as well as his assistant, after all.

Alice told me not to worry. She said she would cut and re-style the black wig I’d worn to Promontory Point. (‘Sometimes it’s good to have a sister who’s a hairdresser,’ she said.) We went to Walmart. Alice found a pair of aviator-style glasses and some cold cream that she said would give me an Irish pallor. Also a small clip-on gold earring, not too ostentatious, for my left ear. Back in the motel she combed the black wig back from my forehead and told me to prop the aviators on it.

‘Like you think you’re a movie star,’ she said. ‘Put on the shirt with the high collar. And remember that as far as Klerke and this guy Petersen know, Billy Summers is dead.’

She took the picture against a neutral background (the brick wall of the Best Western where we were staying) and we examined it together, and closely.

‘Is it good enough?’ Alice asked. ‘I mean, you don’t look like you to me, especially with that snarky grin, but I wish we had Bucky to help us.’

‘I think it is. As you said, it helps that they think I’m buried in the Pauite Foothills.’

‘This is quite a little conspiracy we’ve got going,’ Alice said as we went back inside. ‘Bucky, your make-believe literary agent, and now some big shot Vegas madam.’

‘Don’t forget Nick,’ I said.

She stopped halfway down the corridor to our rooms, frowning. ‘If any of them called Klerke and told him what’s going on, it would probably be a nice payday for them. Not Majarian or Mr Piglielli, and Bucky wouldn’t ever, but what about the Blatner woman?’

‘She won’t, either,’ I said. ‘Basically, they’ve all had enough of him.’

‘You hope.’

‘I know,’ I said, and hoped I did. In any case I was going in, and it looked more and more like Alice would be going in with me.

*