“It’s a disguise, dummy.”The woman pushed past me, checked herself in the bathroom mirror, and continued into the room.“They’re looking for us.I got something for you too.The car’s dead, so we’re going to have to figure something else out.”Her eyes settled on me.“That SUV belong to you?”
“Well, technically it’s Bobby’s, but he lets me—”
“Where’s the rest of it?”Casey said.
“It’s all in here,” she said, dumping the box on the bed.She pushed the wigs to one side—it was hard to tell with them lying flat on the bed, but so many of them looked like bowl cuts—she picked through the clothes: a burlap coat, a polka-dot top with suede fringe, a romper that looked like it used the same floral pattern as my grandmother’s bathroom wallpaper.“It’s pretty weird, though.You’re going to look like a gay.”
“Hey,” I said.“Wait, is that a good thing?It’s probably not.Is it?”
“I’m not talking about that junk.I’m talking about the rest of the loot.”
(Notice: he didn’t think it was such a dumb word whenheused it.)
“It’s right there.”She nodded toward the table.“Why’d you get it out, anyway?That’s stupid—put it away.”
“Not that,” he said.“The rest of it.”
She paused and looked up.“That’s it.That’s all of it.What’s wrong with you?You got a fever?”But her lips stayed parted, and she was breathing a little too fast.
“Did she tell you where she was going?”I asked.“Did she even bother to tell you she was leaving?”
The woman laughed.“What?”
“No,” Casey said flatly.“Where’d you go?”
“To find us a disguise.Now grab something and put it on.”
“And when you called,” I said, “did she tell you where she was, or did she try to put you off?”
“You stay out of this,” she said to me.
Casey’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t listen to him,” she said.“He’s trying to cause trouble.We’ve got to get rid of him.”
I didnotlike the sound of that, so I said, “Would she have come back if the car hadn’t died?Or would she be gone?”
Murderouswould be a generous term for the look she sent my way, and she said a few words that would have made a drag queen’s wig pop off.
“Would you have come back?”Casey asked softly.He was still behind me, so I couldn’t get a look at him, but trust me:Iwouldn’t have wanted to be on the receiving end of that tone.
“Casey, baby, of course I was going to come back.Why are you listening to him?He’s putting crazy stuff in your head.You wouldn’t be listening to him if you weren’t hurt.”
“But where’s the rest of the—” I almost—almost—saidloot.“—jewelry?”
Behind me, Casey’s breathing was loose, wet, accelerated.I could hear him when he licked his lips.And then he said, “Where are they?Where are the combs?”
“What combs?”she said.“There are no combs.That’s it right there.That’s all of it.You’ve got a bad fever, and—you know what?You tell me.”She spread her arm toward the clothes and wigs.“You think I hid some combs in here?”She patted down the crop top.She gave the Lycra shorts some distressingly revealing tugs.“Where are they?Where’d I hide them?”
Behind me, Casey’s swallow was a dry click.
It was also a decision.I couldn’t see him move, but I felt the gun swivel toward my back.
“The wig,” I said.
Let me tell you: if looks could kill.
“She’s hiding them under the wig,” I said.“She was wearing a different wig earlier, but it didn’t hide them well enough.That’s why she changed wigs.”
