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that. Showing what had been hidden to Whit now somehow helped dispel his morbid thoughts. “She left home, ran away when she was fifteen. Before I knew you. This was taken a week before she disappeared. It was the one we showed around, the one I took with me when I searched for her.”
    â€œYou never found her?”
    â€œFar, far away, compadre , you get me?”
    Whitman nodded. “She didn’t want to be found.”
    â€œYou’d have liked her. She was smart, feisty, lawless … Shit.”
    â€œDon’t talk about her as if she’s dead, Flix.”
    â€œWhy the fuck not? She’s been dead to me and my sister for years.” He glanced up briefly, but it was clear that taking his gaze from her photo for even a moment caused him pain. “Why’d she do it? I wish I knew. I wish she were here now. I wish she weren’t dead. Family, you know?”
    Whitman nodded again, touched his friend’s hand. “Family’s a bear.”
    Flix, smiling faintly, finally put Lucy’s photo back in his wallet, lay the wallet in his lap.
    Whitman, figuring it was time to change the subject, held up a metal-jacketed file. “I took the opportunity of liberating your chart from the nurses’ station.”
    â€œFuck you.” Nevertheless, he leaned forward in anticipation.
    Whitman flicked it open, scanned the pages. “Blah, blah, blah. Yadda, yadda, yadda.” He slammed the chart closed. “Another couple of days here, then they’ll ship you down to PT. You’ll be good to go in a week.”
    â€œA week is a year in this place. Listen, be a pal. Get me the fuck outta here now.”
    â€œI wish I could, Flix, emmis . But I’m gonna do the next best thing. I’m gonna find us a new armorer.”
    â€œGood luck with that,” Orteño said morosely. “Sandy was the best I’ve ever seen.”
    â€œMaybe,” Whitman replied, “but I think I’ve got a line on someone even better.”
    Orteño stared at him. “You’re freakin’ kidding me.” He shook his head. “I tell you, don’t screw with a Latino in pain.”
    â€œHand to God.”
    â€œThere is no God.”
    â€œAnd this coming from a Catholic.”
    â€œLapsed, baby, lapsed.” Orteño made a face. “If God had witnessed what we’ve seen on the field of battle and done nothing, he’d be one sonuvabitch.”
    â€œSixteen angels just lost their wings.”
    Orteño guffawed. “Like I care,” he said. “So who’s the candidate?”
    â€œParty by the name of Charlie Daou.”
    â€œNever heard of him. He ex-military?”
    â€œNot a bit of it,” Whitman said. “Charlie wouldn’t be caught dead in the military.”
    Orteño’s expression darkened. “What? He’s not patriotic?”
    â€œNot enough money in it.”
    â€œSo that’s why you think he’ll come and work for us.”
    Universal Securities Associates paid very well, indeed, even for a field consultant, as they were euphemistically known, and especially for the Red Rover team.
    â€œThat and other reasons,” Whitman said vaguely.
    Orteño wriggled himself into a more upright position. “Care to share?”
    â€œCharlie and I go way back. I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be. I think it’ll work out.”
    Orteño nodded. “Have at it then, my man. Make us whole again. The best medicine for both of us is to get back to work.”
    Whitman rose, bent over the bed, until his forehead touched Flix’s.
    â€œTrue dat.”
    *   *   *
    The night was clear and almost balmy. Whitman ate at his favorite Thai joint, where they knew to serve him food they themselves ate, one dish more incendiary than the next. Afterward, he repaired to The Doll House, where, amid wretched shadows, he watched Sydny pole dance while she fucked him