either. Some shoes… nada.”
I stepped behind him and peered over his shoulder. All I saw were a few pairs of heels and three dresses on wire hangers.
“What does she do?” the cop asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Her job, what is —”
“She’s a dancer. But only until she finds something else.”
“Well” — Trip turned to face me — “maybe she found that something else, because she’s not here.”
“Here’s what happened.” The other one, the one I had been thinking of as the dumb, skinny one with the red-rimmed eyes, came
out of the bathroom. “Here’s what
transpired.
” He said that word like a person who had just purchased it. “She called from her wireless phone, dialed you up, you know,
and you answered. She said your name, and just like that, she lost the connection. Happens all the time. Drove out of range,
went through a tunnel.”
“She was calling from the dark.” I had heard it in her voice. Darkness. And fear. “And why didn’t she call back?”
“So she was in the dark somewhere,” he conceded. “Maybe you’re right. A bar or somewhere, probably where she works.”
“There would have been loud music if she’d called from where she works.” I shook my head. “I’ve been there. Besides, I spoke
to them already, and she’s not working tonight. This was a small, enclosed place, like a closet.” A new thought occurred to
me. “Or the trunk of a car.” I pictured a stifling obscurity, heavy air, a pair of hands around Angela’s neck, fingers tightening.
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“Where she works.”
“The Velvet Mask. It’s on —”
He rolled his eyes. “We know where
that
is.”
“Sir,” Trip announced, shaking his head, “you can’t tell if a person is in the dark just from the sound of their voice.” He
was losing his patience, I was beginning to understand, with this white mutant in his tattered bathrobe in the middle of the
West Hollywood night.
“Can you describe her?”
“Describe her?”
We had moved back into my apartment so I could give them a complete statement.
“Her appearance.” This was the dumb cop asking. He ran his fingers through his hair, replaced his hat.
“She’s black,” I said. “At least I think she is. Part black, at least. Maybe Spanish.”
“Dark skin, light skin?”
“Medium skin,” I answered. “Medium to light. Cinnamon,” I said. “Reflective.”
This got a smirk from Trip. “Cinnamon skin.”
“Anything in particular about her appearance that stands out?” the skinny one asked. “I mean, besides the reflectivity?”
“Her eyes change colors.”
They both stared at me.
“Sometimes they’re blue,” I clarified, “sometimes they’re brown.”
Trip muttered as he took down notes. “Might be wearing colored contacts.”
“Nice body?”
“Fake breasts,” I said, making a gesture. I had felt the implants beneath her skin.
“How tall?”
“Tall, I guess.” I thought for a moment, remembering how high she came up on me. I am just over six feet. “Five nine, maybe.
Five ten?” I became sarcastic. “But I’m fairly sure her height is real.”
We stood on the flokati, the three of us, and I worried about what might be on the soles of their shoes.
On television was the scene where Leon reaches into a container of freezing liquid and pulls out a pair of android eyeballs.
“Is that on TV?” Trip asked.
“It’s a DVD.”
“Oh.” He nodded.
“There’s nothing else you can do?”
“Nothing happened,” said the skinny one.
“There’s no sign of foul play,” said Trip, taking a hard look around, as if Angela might be hiding in my apartment for some
reason.
A few seconds later, they were heading toward the door. “There’s nothing to do even if we wanted to do something,” Trip said.
“All you’ve got is a missing woman,” I said sarcastically.
“All
you’ve
got is a missing woman. All we’ve got is someone who says he
I stepped behind him and peered over his shoulder. All I saw were a few pairs of heels and three dresses on wire hangers.
“What does she do?” the cop asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Her job, what is —”
“She’s a dancer. But only until she finds something else.”
“Well” — Trip turned to face me — “maybe she found that something else, because she’s not here.”
“Here’s what happened.” The other one, the one I had been thinking of as the dumb, skinny one with the red-rimmed eyes, came
out of the bathroom. “Here’s what
transpired.
” He said that word like a person who had just purchased it. “She called from her wireless phone, dialed you up, you know,
and you answered. She said your name, and just like that, she lost the connection. Happens all the time. Drove out of range,
went through a tunnel.”
“She was calling from the dark.” I had heard it in her voice. Darkness. And fear. “And why didn’t she call back?”
“So she was in the dark somewhere,” he conceded. “Maybe you’re right. A bar or somewhere, probably where she works.”
“There would have been loud music if she’d called from where she works.” I shook my head. “I’ve been there. Besides, I spoke
to them already, and she’s not working tonight. This was a small, enclosed place, like a closet.” A new thought occurred to
me. “Or the trunk of a car.” I pictured a stifling obscurity, heavy air, a pair of hands around Angela’s neck, fingers tightening.
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“Where she works.”
“The Velvet Mask. It’s on —”
He rolled his eyes. “We know where
that
is.”
“Sir,” Trip announced, shaking his head, “you can’t tell if a person is in the dark just from the sound of their voice.” He
was losing his patience, I was beginning to understand, with this white mutant in his tattered bathrobe in the middle of the
West Hollywood night.
“Can you describe her?”
“Describe her?”
We had moved back into my apartment so I could give them a complete statement.
“Her appearance.” This was the dumb cop asking. He ran his fingers through his hair, replaced his hat.
“She’s black,” I said. “At least I think she is. Part black, at least. Maybe Spanish.”
“Dark skin, light skin?”
“Medium skin,” I answered. “Medium to light. Cinnamon,” I said. “Reflective.”
This got a smirk from Trip. “Cinnamon skin.”
“Anything in particular about her appearance that stands out?” the skinny one asked. “I mean, besides the reflectivity?”
“Her eyes change colors.”
They both stared at me.
“Sometimes they’re blue,” I clarified, “sometimes they’re brown.”
Trip muttered as he took down notes. “Might be wearing colored contacts.”
“Nice body?”
“Fake breasts,” I said, making a gesture. I had felt the implants beneath her skin.
“How tall?”
“Tall, I guess.” I thought for a moment, remembering how high she came up on me. I am just over six feet. “Five nine, maybe.
Five ten?” I became sarcastic. “But I’m fairly sure her height is real.”
We stood on the flokati, the three of us, and I worried about what might be on the soles of their shoes.
On television was the scene where Leon reaches into a container of freezing liquid and pulls out a pair of android eyeballs.
“Is that on TV?” Trip asked.
“It’s a DVD.”
“Oh.” He nodded.
“There’s nothing else you can do?”
“Nothing happened,” said the skinny one.
“There’s no sign of foul play,” said Trip, taking a hard look around, as if Angela might be hiding in my apartment for some
reason.
A few seconds later, they were heading toward the door. “There’s nothing to do even if we wanted to do something,” Trip said.
“All you’ve got is a missing woman,” I said sarcastically.
“All
you’ve
got is a missing woman. All we’ve got is someone who says he
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