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mashing his hand had felt。 But he thought they belonged here。
He helped Zach out through the living room； half holding him up as Zach carried both bags。 The air was thick as syrup； sucking at Trevor's legs； pulling at his feet。 You could stay； it whispered。 There is a place for you forever； here in Birdland。
But Trevor would not listen。 It was only one of a million possible places； and it wasn't the one he wanted anymore。
Zach clung to him until they were out of the house and off the porch。 The sky was a deep watery blue streaked with rose。 A few stars were still visible； they seemed too huge and bright； their glitter too intense。 The whole world was silent。
Wet grass brushed their knees as they made their way to the back of the house where the car was parked。 Trevor helped Zach into the passenger seat； then slid in behind the wheel。 Zach fumbled with his seat belt。 Trevor wanted to wear his too； but he didn't think he could fasten it himself； and he was afraid to ask Zach to lean across the seat and help him。 Zach looked sick and sweaty； on the verge of blacking out。
Trevor fitted the key into the ignition with his left hand and turned it awkwardly。 The engine roared into life。 Pain flared in his foot as he stepped on the clutch。 The Mustang began to roll through the yard and down the overgrown driveway。
〃Zach？〃
〃。 。 。 yeah 。 。 。〃
〃Put it in second。〃
Zach groped for the shift stick and pulled it down into second gear。 The car picked up speed。 They were at the end of the long driveway now； turning onto Violin Road。 Trevor steered with his left hand； braced his right forearm against the wheel。 He glanced into the rearview mirror。 The house was barely visible through the shroud of weeds and vines。 It looked like an empty place。 Trevor wondered if it ever would be。
He let the car coast down the rutted gravel road。 〃Okay；〃 he said。 〃Put it in third。〃
No response。 Trevor looked over at Zach。 He was slumped back against the seat； eyes shut； glasses sliding down his nose； bruises blooming like dark flowers on his pallid face。
〃Zach！〃 he said。 〃ZACH！〃
〃。 。 。 mmm 。 。 。〃
Trevor slowed the car to a crawl； made sure Zach was breathing； speeded back up to twenty or so。 If he rolled through stop signs； he could drive all the way to Kinsey's house in second gear。 It would be hell on the clutch； but he didn't care。 If anything happened to Zach now； Trevor might as well go right back into that house and nail the door shut behind him。
〃Stay awake；〃 he told Zach。 〃I don't want you slipping。〃
〃。 。 。 mmmmmm 。 。 。〃
〃Zach！ Sing with me！〃 Trevor tried to think of a song whose words he knew。 The only thing that came to mind was one he had been made to learn at the Boys' Home。 It would have to do。 〃YIPPIE KI YI YO…O；〃 he sang loudly。 〃GIT ALONG； LITTLE DOGIES！ e on； Zach。 Please 。。。 IT'S YOURRRR MISFORTUNE； AND NONE OF MY OWWWWN 。。。〃
〃Yippie 。 。 。 ki yi yo；〃 sang Zach in a ghostly voice； barely a whisper。
〃GIT ALONG； LITTLE DOGIES 。 。 。 c'mon； louder 。 。 。〃
〃YOU KNOW THAT WY…OMING WILL BE YOUR NEW HOOOOOME；〃 they finished in unison。
Trevor glanced over at Zach。 His eyes were open； and there was a tired smile on his face。 〃Trevor？〃 he said。
〃What？〃
〃You're a lousy singer。〃
〃Thanks。〃
〃And； Trev？〃
〃What？〃
〃That song really sucks。〃
〃So？〃
〃So 。 。 。 you want this thing in third gear？〃
〃Take it up to fourth；〃 said Trevor； and pushed the pedals to the floor。
Chapter Twenty Three
Frank Norton chewed on a stale glazed doughnut and regarded the improbable figure that had just appeared in the doorway of his office。 The kid looked seventeen or eighteen； his skinny body awkwardly put together and slightly hunched。 Dirty brown ringlets of hair hung in his face。 The lenses of his glasses were as thick as Coke bottles。 His beady little eyes peered suspiciously through them。
〃Is Agent Cover here？〃 he demanded。
Should've known he was looking for Ab； thought Norton。 Who else has teenage nerds in his office at seven in the morning？ 〃Nope。 He had a rough time chasin' down a Chevy pickup yesterday and he's not in yet。〃 The kid stared blankly at him。 〃Can I help you？〃 he added。
〃My name is Stefan Duplessis。 I'm assisting him with the Bosch case。〃
Ah。 The stoolie。 〃Sure； Stefan。 What can I do for you？〃
〃I've found a very important clue。〃 Duplessis held up a sweat…stained piece of newsprint。 〃I think Zach Bosch planted this article in the Times…Picayune。 Furthermore； I think he's in North Carolina。 The first article said so； and this one does too。 I've even figured out the name of the town！〃
Furthermore。 Jesus。 〃Is that so？〃 Norton asked politely。 Ab was really grasping at straws on this case。 That hacker was probably living it up in Australia by now。 〃Well； Stefan； I'm afraid that's not my case。 You'll have to leave it on Agent Cover's desk。〃
〃But I need to talk to him now！〃 The last word was pronounced naaaaow； like the noise his sister…in…law's Siamese made when Norton pulled its tail。
〃Sorry； kid。 You can't。〃
〃Then I'll wait till he gets here。 This is too important to leave on his desk。〃
〃Suit yourself。 There's a bench in the hall。〃
Duplessis made his exit with an air of wounded dignity。 Ab Cover isn't a Secret Service agent； Norton thought。 He's a goddamn babysitter。
A few minutes later he got up to get a cup of coffee and saw the hacker sitting forlornly on the hard wooden bench； still clutching his section of the Times…Picayune。 Norton's curiosity got the better of him。 〃Hey； kid； can I take a look at that？〃
Duplessis handed him the paper。 It was smudged with the gray whorls of his fingerprints； and he had circled the article in green felt…tip。
Travis Rigaud of St。 Tammany Parish accidentally shot himself while cleaning his collection of handguns…five different times with five different guns； twice in the left foot；
once in the right calf； and once in each hand； severing two fingers 。 。 。
Norton handed it back。 〃That's real nice； Stefan。 He'll be happy to see it。〃
Ab Cover isn't even a baby sitter； Norton decided with vast amusement as he poured himself a cup of coffee and settled back down with his doughnut。 He's a fucking lunatic。
Kinsey Hummingbird was having a nightmare。 It was a dream he often had； in which irate rednecks kept dropping off decrepit； barely running cars and pickups at the Sacred Yew； telling him to have them ready by six o'clock this evening。 Kinsey would look up at the club's sign and see that it had been repainted to read s。 YEW GARAGE & AUTO PARTS。
Someone was leaning rudely on a car horn now； demanding service。 WHOOOOOONKH！ WHOOOOOOOOOONKH！ The sound blared loud and long through his bedroom。 Kinsey opened his eyes。 It was just getting light outside； and he thought he could still hear the horn。 The sound had never carried on after he was awake before。 Perhaps he was going slowly insane from overwork。
No。 Well； maybe； but someone was blowing a horn outside。 It sounded again； sharp and clear in the hush of dawn。 Kinsey sat up and twitched the curtain aside； peered