Back to the hotel? It seemed logical. It was what I wanted to believe. I wanted to call after her, tell her I was okay. Have another reunion. Try once again to get back to life as usual together. But the memory of the stranger I’d seen before, the feeling of being fucked and then left alone on the couch, the coldness in her eyes as she pronounced my death to another, it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

From within the cab I heard groaning. He was alive, and he was going to tell me what I dared not ask Anne-Marie. I opened the door, and steadied him to keep him from flopping out onto the street. His eyes were closed. I looked around for a paramedic, thinking there must surely be someone on the scene by now…helicopter, fire, and all. No one but a lonely, shell-shocked security guard from the Jewelry store across the street.

I pushed open the driver’s eyelid with my thumb. How the hell was I supposed to know he understood me if I couldn’t see his eyes.

“Where’d you pick her up?” I asked insistently. “The girl…where’d you get her.”

He moaned again, but said nothing. The man was incoherent. I leaned across him, and retrieved a slip of paper. Lipshot Way. Just as I’d suspected. I yelled at the guard to call for help, and earned a “what am I…stupid?” look for my trouble. Then I headed for the alley.

I found a cell phone next to a puddle in the alley. I didn’t recognize the phone, though I knew it had been the one she’d been using. It took me a few minutes to figure out the menus, but I stumbled onto the call history log eventually. The only call listed was outbound. There was a number but no name, so this obviously wasn’t a contact fro her phone book.

I pushed the button to dial.

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