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Some kind of suit； he'd thought in the theater。 But what a suit！ It was woven from nubbly…textured cloth of the palest shell pink； cut loose and baggy； with vast lapels。 Underneath he had on a cream…colored shirt and an extravagant red silk tie with a tiny paisley figure。 Zach felt something on his head； reached up to investigate。 A beret。 Wouldn't you just know it。 Even the lenses of his glasses seemed to have taken on a smoky hipster tint。
Birdland might try to fuck with you at every turn； Zach thought； but at least you got to dress cool。
He heard a ripple of music nearby。 The clear voice of a saxophone； leisurely rising； then descending。 The sound was getting closer。 By this time Zach would not have been surprised to see Charlie Parker （or his zombie） e swaying round the corner； eyes shut tight and forehead wrinkled； blowing the horn as he walked。 Bird used to e onstage like that； Trevor had told him； after the rest of the band had already been playing for an hour or so。 He would start somewhere way off in the bowels of the club； and the other musicians would gradually fall in with him as they heard his approach； until by the time he walked onstage Bird was leading the band。
But what rounded the corner instead was； in the most literal sense of the term； a solo instrument。 Walking on four multi…jointed； chitinous…looking legs； depressing its own keys with two equally insectile three…fingered hands； brass gleaming through a web of scuffs and scratches； came an unacpanied alto saxophone。
〃Oh now；〃 Zach muttered； 〃this is just silly。〃
The music stopped； and a low fluting voice spoke out of the instrument's bell。 〃Hey； cat…you in a cartoon； dig？ Cartoons is s'posed to be silly。 Here； have a stick of tea and you be gettin' silly too。〃
Zach could see no speaking apparatus anywhere on the thing； nothing that vaguely resembled lips or vocal cords； yet the voice did not sound synthesized。 The alto reached one of those spiny claws deep into the curve of its bell and pulled out a fat twisted cigarette。 This it tossed to Zach； who caught it eagerly。
〃Pick up on that tea；〃 the sax advised him。 〃Don't be lettin' zombies bring you down。 They ain't cool or viperish neither。 Not like us。〃
〃Hey； thanks。〃
〃De nada；〃 said the instrument suavely。 〃Any descendant of Hieronymus is a friend o' mine。〃 It began to noodle off down the street； playing a few bars of 〃Ornithology…〃
〃Wait！〃 Zach stuck the joint in his pocket and hurried after it。 〃Do you know where any of the McGees are？ Trevor？ Bobby？〃
The alto switched to 〃Lullaby of Birdland〃 but did not otherwise reply。 It had a half…block start on Zach； and it always seemed to stay just a little too far ahead of him； dropping to all fours and scuttling like a roach on those barbed legs； still playing itself with its spiky little hands； the gay tune spiraling behind。 Zach's fancy new shoes pinched his feet when he tried to hurry。 He could not catch up。 Eventually the thing disappeared down an alley and lost him altogether。
Now Zach was in a narrow street lined on both sides with dark buildings that seemed to lean forward over the sidewalk； swaying slightly。 Many of the buildings had old…fashioned stoops and stairs leading up to recessed entryways that might have once been elegant； but all were in a state of advanced decay。 He saw fanlights with the stained glass broken out； only a few shards remaining like jagged multicolored teeth in the frames。 Overhead he could barely make out a purple slice of sky。 The place was deserted。 Zach reached into his jacket； knowing somehow that there would be a streamlined silver lighter tucked in a pocket。 There was。
He leaned against a stoop； stuck the joint in his mouth； and lit up。 An acrid； bitter taste filled his mouth； nothing remotely like marijuana。 He burst out coughing。 〃A stick of tea；〃 the alto had said； and Zach assumed it was talking beatnik slang。 Now he remembered a panel from Birdland of cat…headed smugglers at a river dock； unloading bales of Darjeeling and Earl Grey under cover of darkest night。 It really was tea。
Well； fuck it。 Caffeine had started him on this journey； maybe it would preserve him。 Zach took another hit off the stick of tea and found himself getting a delicious dizzy high； as good as that from the sticky green bud Dougal used to sell in the French Market。 He felt a sudden wave of homesickness； wondered if he would ever see New Orleans again。
But if he didn't get his ass moving and find Trevor； he might never even see Missing Mile again。 Zach took a couple more tokes； bent over to snuff the joint on the sidewalk。 And then all at once a premonition hit him； stronger than any he'd ever had before： Get the fuck out of here。 Now。
Zach began to straighten up； heard a door slam and heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs behind him。 He dropped the joint； but before he could turn； a hard shove sent him sprawling across the sidewalk。 He managed to get his hands under him and his chin up fast enough not to break any teeth； but he felt the healing cut on his lip burst open； saw fresh blood spatter the cement。 His palms screamed agony。 He felt sidewalk grit working its way into raw subcutaneous layers of flesh。
〃You stupid fuckin' kid！ Leave you alone for five minutes and I find you smokin' dope on the street corner！〃 A boot ground into the small of his back。 The voice was familiar； deep and faintly gravelly。 Shit； no； please； no； thought Zach。 Make me fuck a zombie。 Let me watch my own face rotting in the mirror。 Please； anything but my dad。
Zach twisted away from the boot。 A large hand wrapped around his wrist and hauled him up。 He found himself staring up into the pale exasperated face of Joe Bosch； and remembered one of the scariest things about his father： even when he was beating the crap out of someone； usually his wife or son； his face never lost that wideeyed； slightly harassed expression。 It was as if he sincerely believed he was inflicting this damage for the good of all concerned； and was only pissed that they couldn't see it that way。
When Zach left home； his father had been a foot taller than he； skinny but muscular。 Since then Zach had grown six inches and gained thirty pounds。 Joe must have kept growing too； for he still seemed just as big。 Zach had always looked very much like his mother。 He had her pallid coloring； her slender bones； her narrow nose and sulky underlip and thick blue…black hair。 The almond shape of his eyes was hers too。 Joe didn't look so different； he was fair…skinned and dark…haired with sharp intense features； and could have been Evangeline's brother。 But Evangeline's eyes were Cajun black。 Joe's were the color of jade。
His father's relentless stare bored into him； dissected him； mirrored him。 Zach could not even try to pull away。 He remembered the consequences of evasive action all too well。 The trick of being beaten up was to take what you couldn't avoid and show just enough pain to appease their anger； but not enough to make them want more。 If you awakened their lust for pain； they would make you bleed； break； burn。
But there was one thing Zach had never been able to control； one thing that had gotten him hurt more times than he could remember； and that was his smart mouth。
He looked straight into Joe's eyes； wondering if there was anything of his real father in there or if this was a phantom like Calvin in the movie theater； a distillation of Birdland and mushrooms and his own fear。
〃I know you can kick my ass；〃 he said； 〃but can you talk to me？〃
〃Talk？〃 Joe sneered。 Zach saw a gold tooth； remembered a night when he was four or five； his father staggering in with blood pouring from his mouth。 It looked as if he had been vomiting the stuff。 He'd been in a bar fight over some woman； and Evangeline had screamed at him all night。
〃Sure； Zach…a…reee。〃 His mother had named him after her own grandfather。 Joe hated the name； always spoke it that way； with a taunting twist to his lips。 〃We can talk。 What do you wanna talk about？〃
〃I've got all kinds of shit I want to talk about。〃 Zach had never dared say these things to his father。 If he didn't say them now； he never would。 〃Tell me why you hate me so much。 Tell me why I have belt scars on my back that haven't faded in five years。 Tell me how e I could leave home and support myself at fourteen but you couldn't even deal with your fucking life at thirty…three！〃
He tensed； expecting to get slapped。 But Joe only smiled。 It turned his eyes brilliant and dangerous。 〃You wanna know all that？ Then take a look at this。〃
Joe stuck his free hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out a used condom。 Holding it by the rim with thumb and forefinger as if his own seed were distasteful to him； he thrust it in Zach's face。 The reservoir tip was split open； and a long thin string of e dangled from it； glistening in the purple light。 The Bosch family heirloom。
〃This is why I hate you；〃 said Joe。 〃I didn't want a kid any more than you want one right now。 I could've done anything with my life。 Your momma didn't want you because she was scared of being pregnant and too lazy to take care of you once you got there。 But I had a future； and you killed it。〃
〃BULLSHIT！〃 Zach felt his face flushing； his eyes burning with anger。 〃That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard！ I'm just your excuse for being a failure。 Nobody made you…〃
Joe jammed the rubber between Zach's lips and deep into his mouth。 The thing slithered over his tongue； squeaked nastily against his teeth。 Zach was so startled that he almost sucked it right down his throat。 For a moment his father's fingers scrabbled over his tongue； hard and dirty； then they withdrew； and there was only the slimy feel of the rubber； its latex…and…dead…fish flavor。
Zach felt bile rising in his throat。 He twisted his face away from Joe's hand and spat the thing out on the sidewalk where it lay like a severed skin in a pool of spit。 The taste of Joe's e still filled his mouth； like sulfur and salt and murdered dreams。
〃Swallow it；〃 Joe told him。 〃It could have been you。〃
Zach felt his mind beginning to drift away on a thin tether。 〃This isn't happening；〃 he said。 〃You aren't real。〃
〃Oh yeah？〃 said Joe。 〃Then I guess this won't hurt。〃 He cocked his right arm。 Zach saw the flash of a big gold ring an instant before the fist smashed into his face。
The pain was like a sunburst exploding through his head。 Zach inhaled a freshet of blood。 Behind his eyelids he saw a sudden flare of electric blue。 He'd read that when you saw that color； it meant your brain had just banged against the inside of your skull。
Joe hit him again and his lips smeared wetly across his teeth； soft skin splitting and shredding。 This made the time Trevor had punched him look like a love tap。 Joe let go of his arm and Zach crumpled to the sidewalk。 He couldn't open his eyes； though hot tears were searing them。 He curled into a fetal position and wrapped his arms around his head。 His father was screaming at him； half sobbing。
〃You goddamn smartass BRAT。 Always thought you were smarter than me。 You and that CUNT； with your pretty faces。 How pretty are you gonna be NOW？ How smart are you gonna be with your fuckin' BRAINS STOMPED INTO THE SIDEWALK？〃
Joe's boot connected with the base of Zach's spine； sent a hot wave of pain up his body。 He's going to kill me； Zach thought。 He's going to kick me to death right here in the street。 Will my body back at the house die too？ Will Trevor wake up next to me with my head bashed in and think he did it？
The idea was unbearable。 Zach rolled over； saw the boot drawing back to kick him again； grabbed his father's ankle and yanked hard。 If Joe went down； Zach knew in that instant； he wasn't getting up again。 Zach would kill him if possible…with a bottle or a chunk of brick if he could grab one； with his bare hands if he couldn't。 Fuck not fighting back； all bets were off。
But Joe didn't go down。 Zach managed to throw him off balance and he stumbled； then recovered with a great roar of rage and drove the toe of his boot into Zach's shoulder。 The muscles instantly contracted into a shrieking knot of agony。 Well； that's it； Zach thought through the pain。 That was my chance a