“You touched in the head or something?”
Frustrated, Larkin tried, “Did any of Vargas’s mistresses—”
She snorted at the terminology.
“—did any of them run with the Westies.”
“Probably, but I wasn’t on a name-to-name basis with his harem.”Bridget blew smoke at Larkin a second time.“I wanted to stay alive.”
“I’m not speaking to hear myself talk, ma’am.”
“You sure?”
“I’m asking because there is a chance you’re once again in danger.”
Bridget faltered as she brought the cigarette to her lips, but then she laughed that same unkind cackle, took a final drag, and crushed the stick underfoot.“If I ever see you again, I’m reporting you and suing this whole goddamn city.”She shoved his shoulder with her own before once again walking in the direction of the bus stop.
Larkin remained where he was, his back to Bridget as he stared west at the tree-lined street.A super had dragged the building’s trash to the curb before the designated set-out times, and two rats were gnawing a hole into the heavy-duty black plastic bag.
“Bridget!”
Larkin turned the same time Bridget had.She’d walked past Doyle, was perhaps a dozen feet away, when he’d called out to her.
“Bridget Doyle?”he asked.
That same caustic reaction of fear and anger returned to Bridget’s face.She reached for the strap of her purse, clutching it tight in her fist as if she was ready to swing it around like a weapon.“Who the hell are you?”
Larkin cautiously approached, putting a hand out to stop Doyle from moving toward her.Out of reflex, Larkin very nearly said his name, but he managed to bite his tongue and keep quiet.
When Doyle didn’t say anything, Bridget took a few steps backward, demanded, “Stay away from me—both of you,” and then she took off, disappearing around the corner.
Doyle doubled over, his hands on his knees.“She didn’t even recognize me.”
Larkin moved to stand in front of him.“Ira.”
Doyle turned his head to one side and spit.“I feel like I’m gonna be sick again.”
Larkin put a hand in the middle of Doyle’s back.He was shaking pretty badly.“Breathe,” Larkin directed.“In through your nose, out through your mouth.”He stroked up and down, more firmly than how he might’ve touched Doyle otherwise, but he wanted to ground him the way Doyle always did when Larkin needed it.He said, “Did you know that when sound is introduced to the sense of touch, response time in the somatosensory cortex is enhanced, suggesting the brain doesn’t process sensory information in parallel, but instead all together, in a sort of symphony.The significance of this find is beneficial in the ongoing research of conditions like autism or anxiety, both of which experience impaired sensory processing, but it also reaffirms early childhood development studies, which suggest rocking and singing to a baby simultaneously not only gives an infant a sense of security and familiarity, but it creates a bond with their caregiver and even promotes early language development.”
Larkin felt incredibly self-conscious about doing this, especially on the open street for any passersby to overhear, but he began singing Marilyn Monroe’s version of “I Wanna Be Loved By You,” and he didn’t even skip the scat “boop-boop-a-doop.”It was somewhere around not aspiring for anything higher that Doyle straightened his posture, took Larkin’s face into his hands, and kissed him with a desperation that Larkin didn’t know how to quell other than to kiss back even harder.
Larkin’s phone rang.
Doyle broke first.He gently let go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Larkin collected his phone and looked at the caller ID.“It’s Noah.”
“Answer it.”Doyle’s voice was rough.
“What.”
“After everything that’s been happening….”Doyle replied, rubbing his stubble with a near-steady hand.“Just answer it.”
Larkin reluctantly swiped to accept the call and put the phone to his ear.“Noah—”
“Everett!”Noah screamed.
The phone jostled, the sound briefly distorted, and then an unfamiliar male voice said, “Everett Larkin, listen very carefully.”
