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black eyes and always…hungry loins。 If only his mother had managed to scrape up； pun most certainly intended； the cash for the abortion she often wished aloud that she had had。 If only his father's rubber hadn't broken…and how many times had Joe taunted him about that damn rubber？ The thing was practically a Bosch family heirloom。
In the too…silent darkness Zach punched at the buttons of the radio； twisted the tuning knob。 Frizzly static greeted him； then a spurt of jazz。 A ripple of piano and tympani； a trembling； exalting alto saxophone。 He disliked the Dixieland jazz he had heard all his life； as he did Cajun music and indeed anything with accordions or brass in it； anything that sounded like growing up in New Orleans。 Such music twisted barbs into his memory； ran too deeply into his blood。
But this wasn't New Orleans stuff。 Kansas City； maybe； it sounded less frenetically cheerful； exotic somehow； musing and dreaming。 He left it on。
After the Vietnamese enclave； the highway passed through an interminable stretch of beach cabins with cute names （Jimmy's Juke Joint； Li'l Bit O'Heaven； Moon Mansion replete with a big plywood ass shining in his headlights） and private driveways that went straight down to the dark water on either side。 This was the beginning of bayou country； and there was very little solid land。 Zach pondered the name of his own imaginary cabin…Hacker Hideaway？ Outlaw Asylum？ No： Bosch's Blues。 Check all Uzis and Secret Service badges at the door。
Gradually the cabins grew sparser and shabbier； some were bereft even of their names； or bore signs with the words and crude bright illustrations worn away。 Then they were gone； and the road was empty； straight； flanked by dark expanses of water and woods and shadow。 He crossed a bridge that arced high above the water； saw moonlight shimmering on the surface like pale jewels。
The radio station never faded out； though Zach thought he drove fifty miles or more； past bland green vistas and ugly stretches of consumerland； K…marts and QuikStops and fast…food charnelhouses shut down against the night。 In one of these towns a fried human ear had been found in a box of takeout chicken； like some cannibalistic remake of Blue Velvet by way of Colonel Sanders。 Zach remembered reading the story in some tabloid out of Baton Rouge and wishing he'd thought it up himself； wondering if it were true or whether there was another prankster out there somewhere； creating urban mythology in giant digital strokes。 The same song seemed to keep playing over and over； as if the DJ had set the CD on infinite replay and gone to sleep。 The sax wailed and sobbed。 The piano dreamed behind it。
At last he reached the Gulf Coast and began his meandering trek along it。 The little coastal towns shut down after ten； there was only the long deserted stretch of white beach broken by marinas and piers； and beyond it the black expanse of the Gulf of Mexico。
His parents had brought him here once； when he was ten or so。 Zach remembered smelling the salt air as they drove down； imagining the blissful caresses of the sand and water。 In reality the sand had had an unpleasantly powdery feel； like ordinary playground dirt； there had been a scum of pollution at the water's edge； a pale brown froth that ebbed and flowed with the waves。 It smelled faintly of dead fish； engine sludge； chemicals gone bad。
But out past the beach the water was the color of new denim； and felt so good on his parched； abused skin。 He had ducked his head beneath the surface； seal…like； and hadn't stopped swimming out to sea until his father's harsh hands grabbed him by the hair and wedged the back of his swim trunks up the crack of his scrawny ass。
The car swerved slightly to the right。 Zach caught it at once； but the memories were starting to hypnotize him； to pull him toward the water。
A town marker flashed by。 PASS CHRISTIAN； pronounced not like 〃Christian；〃 Zach knew； but like a girl's name： CHRISTIE…ANN。 He was already in Mississippi； and hadn't even noticed。 Fine old Southern mansions loomed sepulchrally along the left side of the road； shrouded in ghostly curtains of Spanish moss and the giant knurled oaks that had hung on through a hundred hurricane seasons or more。 The beach on the right was pure white； shining。
Zach hooked a left off the highway and headed for Pass Christian's downtown； such as it was。 A man was pissing against a wall outside the Sea Witch Tavern。 A dim； tempting blue light burned somewhere deep in the bar； like a siren luring travelers to a watery grave。 The other buildings were dark and still。
After driving several blocks； Zach came upon a lone convenience store called Bread Basket； its neon flickering fitfully； flooding its little patch of town with erratic dead white light。 There were no cars in the parking lot； but Zach saw a clerk nodding at the register； blond head drooping over the Slim Jims and Confederate lighter displays。
As he parked the car； the jazz tune finally ended。 He heard a guttural voice as of a DJ roused from long and peaceful slumber。 〃Uh。 Yeah。 That was； uh 。 。 。 'Laura' by Charlie Parker 。。。 a whole buncha times 。 。 。〃
The inside of the store assaulted his corneas like an acid vision after the calm silver and charcoal of the night。 Zach observed that the clerk had been not napping； but studying with rapt attention a magazine spread out on the countertop。 It was open to a black…and…white photograph of a lanky； bare…chested； feral…faced boy who looked a lot like the clerk himself。
〃C'n I help you？〃 A plastic nametag was pinned to the lapel of the boy's blue polyester store jacket。 LEAF。 Hippie parents would do the damndest things。
〃Yeah。 Can I smell your coffee？〃
〃Huh？〃
〃Your coffee。〃 Zach waved at the coffee machine and its trappings against the opposite wall。 〃Can I just smell it？〃
〃Sure 。。。 I guess。〃 Leaf glanced down at the photo again； then unhurriedly closed the magazine。 It was an old issue of GQ。 〃If you're lookin' for Hawaiian Kona； though； you're out of luck。 It's just evil ole homebrew。〃
〃That's okay。 I don't actually want to drink any。〃 Zach crossed to the coffee maker； pulled the pot out of the metal apparatus that kept it at sub…boiling point； and passed it slowly back and forth beneath his nose。 Hot bitter steam wafted into his face； moistened his tired eyes。 He felt microscopic particles of caffeine traveling up his nostrils； into his lungs； out through the interfaces of his bloodstream and straight into the hard drive of his weary brain。
His heart gave a jump and began beating faster。 The rush made his mouth dry。 As he grabbed a bottle of mineral water out of the cooler； he found himself wondering why a cute kid who read GQ and knew about Hawaiian Kona coffee was working at a Bread Basket in Pass Christian； Mississippi。
At the register； Zach set his drink on the counter； added a lighter （patterned in gaudy pink and black zigzags； but no rebel flag）； and pulled out his wallet。 He hadn't tried to access any of his various bank accounts before he left town； knowing that all of them could be watched。 And he could get more。 He'd only brought the stash of ready cash he kept for an emergency such as this； he had always known that he might have to bail out someday； and that he would have to do it fast。 Now he found that the smallest bill in his wallet was a hundred。
〃Can't change it；〃 Leaf said apologetically。 〃They only let me keep fifty dollars in the register after ten； and I haven't had shit for business。〃
〃I'm really thirsty。〃
〃Well…〃
Zach caught the other boy's eyes with his own and held them。 Leafs eyes were long and slightly tilted； gimlet eyes； the same warm honey…gold as his hair。 〃Just give me the stuff；〃 he suggested。 〃I'll get you stoned。〃
This was a simplified version of a hacker technique known as social engineering。 It could be used to reassure an operator that she was talking to a bona…fide telco technician； it was good for all manner of scamming； impersonation； and general fraud。 This cute clerk was no challenge at all。 The seeds of rebellion were already planted。 Zach could see the kid mulling it over； talking himself into it。
He leaned an elbow on the counter and offered his most charming smile。 〃What do you say？〃
〃Well 。 。 。 oh； fuck it。 Take whatever you want。 I don't care。 I'm quitting soon anyway。〃
〃Thanks。 That's real neighborly of you。〃 Zach whisked the lighter into his pocket； cracked the mineral water open； and took a long gulp。 It tasted flat and dead； but then he was used to the carcinogenic soup that passed for tapwater in New Orleans。 Plenty of flavor in that。
Leaf snorted。 〃Neighborly。 Like you live in Mississippi。 I'll bet you're from New York or something。〃
Zach hadn't heard that one before。 People sometimes thought he was part Oriental…a fact that amused Eddy no end…but no one had ever accused him of being from New York。
He decided the idea appealed to him。 〃Well； yeah；〃 he admitted。 〃How'd you know？〃
〃The way you talk。 And you don't look like you're from around here。 The only other place you could've e from is New Orleans。〃
〃Never been there。〃 In a burst of inspiration； Zach added； 〃Yet。 It's where I'm headed。〃
Their eyes met again and locked。 For an instant Zach imagined that Leaf was able to look straight into his brain； to see the lie arid the convoluted reason behind it； the miles he had already run and all the miles still ahead。 But Zach knew that was not true。
And even if it were； he could see in those warm honeycolored eyes that this kid wouldn't care。
Leaf accepted Zach's offer and locked up the store； and they went into the back room to smoke one of the joints Zach had rolled for the trip。 Leaf lounged on a crate of toilet paper； long legs sprawled before him。 There was a small defiant hole in one knee of the faded jeans he wore with his uniform shirt。 The skin beneath was downed with fine gold hairs。
Zach leaned against the opposite wall watching Leaf's nervous gestures； tasting Leaf's lips on the joint。 The stockroom of a convenience store in Mississippi seemed a stupid place to get waylaid this early in the trip。 But the damn kid was making his mouth water。
〃I'm quitting tomorrow；〃 Leaf said after his third toke。 〃I hate this fuckin' place。〃
〃What are you doing here； anyway？〃
〃I'm an art student in Jackson。 Photography。 I was supposed to spend the summer here taking pictures； preserving the goddamn history or something。 But it sucks。 None of the rednecks know anything and none of the rich old farts will even talk to me。 I don't know which stuff is supposed to be important。 I guess I'll fail my project。〃
〃Can't you do some research？〃
〃What do you mean？〃
〃Go to the library； find out where people lived； what houses are haunted； that kind of thing。 Most of the old newspapers are probably on microfilm。〃
Leaf looked up at Zach。 The whites of his eyes were shot with a faint scarlet tracery of veins； but the irises and pupils were heartbreakingly clear。 〃I'm a totally visual person；〃 he said。 〃I hate reading。〃
Zach bit his tongue hard； dug his fingernails into the soft meat of his palms。 That was the kind of casual statement that could send his blood pressure rocketing if he let it。 But now it produced only a faint twinge in his heart； like a filament stretched to the breaking point。 So the kid was vapid； so much the better。 It made things easy； and Zach would never have to see him again after tonight。 〃You hate all kinds of stuff；〃 he said。
Leaf shrugged。 〃I guess。〃
〃Tell me something you like。〃
This was evidently a tough one。 Zach could see the kid sifting through possibilities； rejecting them one by one。 〃I like the beach；〃 he said finally。 〃I never go in the water； but I like to sit on the sand and stare out to sea。 It makes me feel like I'm looking into infinity。 You know？〃
A screen full of scrolling numbers flashed through Zach's head。 He nodded。
〃I like sleeping。〃
Another nod； this one coupled with the barest suggestion of a shrug。 Tell me something I couldn't have guessed。
〃I like you okay。〃
They had both known they weren't just locking themselves back here to smoke a joint； but the