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ough about Bosch to keep track of his movements if she could。 Maybe she even knew where he was now。 She ought to be questioned again。
For that matter； her bank records should be examined more closely。 A routine balance check wasn't good enough when a hacker might be involved。 They ought to get records of all her transactions for the past month； and see whether she had made any large deposits or withdrawals in the last couple of days。
Frank Norton； the stocky gray…haired agent who had the next cheerless office over； came in and dropped a greasy brown paper bag on his desk。 〃Here's that sandwich you wanted。〃
〃Tuna？〃
〃No。 Egg salad。 It was all the cafeteria had left。 Don't you ever go home？〃
〃Sure。 I stopped by a couple days ago。 Thanks； Spider。〃 Norton had had the nickname since his days with the DBA； when he'd managed to get bitten by a tarantula during a drug raid on the docks。 He claimed someone had thrown it on him。 The drug runners swore the huge hairy spiders lived inside bunches of bananas； every fool knew that； and Norton shouldn't have stuck his hand in those bananas even if there were five…pound bags of cocaine hidden in them。
Alone again； Cover unwrapped his sandwich。 The sulfurous odor of boiled eggs in mayonnaise floated up to him。 He hated egg salad。 Eating the putrid mush anywhere was bad enough； eating it in New Orleans； where you could get some of the best food in the world； was almost unbearable。 But his hands were shaking。 He was half…starved。
He took a bite of the sandwich； and a generous glob of egg salad oozed out from between the slices of stale brown bread； hung precariously for a moment； then fell。 It left a long curdy streak down Agent Cover's tie and shirtfront。 When he tried to scoop it up； half of it plopped onto his pants。
〃Shit； shit； shit。〃 He crumpled the paper bag furiously； hurled it in the direction of the trash can； missed。 These fancy suits he had to wear were damned expensive； and Cover had no idea whether mayonnaise would stain the pants。 His wife would know。 Maybe he should go home for a while； get a decent meal。 He could deal with little Ms。 Sung tomorrow。
Fucking eggs。 He hated them anyway。
Chapter Fifteen
Let's get some sheets；〃 said Trevor。 〃That mattress is pretty dirty。〃
〃How about a fan？〃
〃Yeah； and a coffeepot。〃
Zach smirked。 〃Gee； I feel so domestic。〃
〃Well； if you don't want to 。 。 。〃 Trevor looked sidelong at Zach； then stared at the floor in embarrassment。
〃Hey； hey； joking。 I've never set up housekeeping with anyone before； is all。〃
〃It makes you nervous？〃 A small line appeared between Trevor's brows as he frowned。 It seemed to cost him an effort to understand moods and motivations that would have been immediately obvious to most。 Zach guessed Trevor was probably the most weirdly socialized person he had ever met。
〃It makes me hyper。〃
〃Want some Excedrin？〃
That was Zach's favorite thing about weirdly socialized people： anything that popped into their heads usually made it out of their mouths。 〃No thanks； I'm fine；〃 he said； and they caught each other's eye and started laughing。
In the giddy rush that followed waking and more fucking； they had put their clothes on and driven downtown with the idea of getting something to eat。 Instead they had wound up in Potter's Store； wandering the dim； dust…scented aisles； browsing through the shelves crammed full of junk and plunder。
Zach watched Trevor's hands plunge into a bin of fifty…cent clothing； sorting out only the black items and quickly discarding them； finally selecting a single plain T…shirt。 Zach thought of grasping those hands； of turning them over and kissing the palms。
But Potter's Store was full of old rednecks； mostly the reformed drunks from the Salvation Army who ran the place。 Zach supposed they were used to trendy kids thrift…shopping； but he had no desire to attract extra attention。 Hell； these people weren't just Christians； they were probably Republicans。 If the right kind of G…man flashed a badge at them； they'd not only tell him anything he wanted to hear； they'd lick his asshole clean while they did it。 Goddamn John…Wayne…loving John…Birch…worshiping good country people。
〃What are you scowling about？〃
〃Oh。〃 He looked up into Trevor's face and forgot it all。 〃Nothing。〃
Their eyes locked on each other； and for a long moment they might as well have been back in bed； tangled in the sweaty blanket； stewing in one another's juices。 Then Trevor glanced over Zach's shoulder。 〃Hey； there's Kinsey。 I bet he'd let us take a shower at his house。〃
〃Feed us too？〃
〃Maybe。〃
〃Go for it。〃
Trevor grabbed his coffeepot and Zach his fan； and they slipped through the aisles and homed in on Kinsey's tall form like two hungry cats who know which porch to go to。
Kinsey sat at his kitchen table and listened to the shower blasting away。 It had done so for thirty minutes now； and though the bathroom was way at the other end of the hall； the kitchen windows had begun to fog up。 If they went on much longer； his zucchini…mushroom lasagna would be ready to e out of the oven and he would have to eat it by himself。 The house was getting unbearably hot and muggy。
He went into the hall and switched on the air…conditioning。 From behind the bathroom door he could hear water hitting skin； the rattle of the shower curtain； a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob。 Were they making love in the steam and spray？ Were they crying in there？
He did not even try to guess where the nasty…looking cut on Zach's lip had e from； or why Trevor wasn't carrying his sketchbook。
Kinsey had been surprised when they came up to him in Potter's Store all rumpled and bright…eyed and reeking of sex； as obviously connected as if they were clutching hands。 Of all the things Kinsey might have predicted for Trevor's first week in Missing Mile； getting laid was not among them。 But he had sent Zach out there； and now here they were。 He wondered if he had averted something； or only made the house dangerous for two boys instead of one。
Kinsey hadn't been feeling very good about his own judgment since yesterday； since hearing that Rima had cracked up her car and died on the highway outside of town。 It must have happened right after she left the Sacred Yew。 If he hadn't been worrying about the stupid dinner special； if he'd taken the time to talk to the girl； to ask the right questions； or better yet； to listen 。 。 。
（〃Listen？ Ask the right questions？〃 Terry had raged at him。 〃You fuckin' hippie！ You caught that bitch with her hand in the fuckin' till。〃
〃But maybe if I'd given her the money…〃
〃THEN SHE WOULD HAVE BOUGHT MORE COKE！ Give it up； Kinsey！ Give it the fuck UP！〃）
In his heart Kinsey knew Rima had probably been a lost cause。 But her mindless； meaningless death made him wonder how far his good intentions could reach； how much he could ever do for these lost kids he wanted so much to help on their way。
Well； time would tell。 This was Kinsey's unofficial philosophy on nearly all matters that did not require his immediate attention。
He opened the oven doo