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sneakers off； pulled his shirt over his head； stuck his glasses in his pocket； and started unbuttoning his pants。 Trevor followed； looking doubtful。 〃Are you going to get naked？〃
Zach undid the last button and let his cutoffs fall。 He wasn't wearing any underwear。 Trevor raised his eyebrows； then shrugged； unbuckled his jeans； and pushed them down over his skinny hips。 If he'd grown up in an orphanage； male nudity was probably no big deal to him。
The rain sluiced over their bodies； washing away the grime of the road and the old crumbling house。 Trevor was only a wet blur several feet away； Zach could barely see him flinging his arms about as if dancing or performing some wild invocation。
Zach raised his face to the downpour and let it fill the tired hollows of his eyes； wash the taste of smoke from his lips。 He was not aware that he was grinning like a fool until he felt rain trickling between his teeth； over his tongue； and down his throat in a little silver river。
Chapter Eleven
Kinsey was mopping up the last of the water as the early evening barflies began to drift in。 Terry was closing up shop at the Whirling Disc and wishing Steve Finn were in town。 The new guy had fucked up an invoice and ordered twenty copies of Louie's Limbo Lounge； an obscure album of exquisitely bad strip…club music； instead of the two Terry had meant to special…order。 Now they could hear such classics as 〃Torture Rock；〃 〃Beaver Shot；〃 and the amazing 〃Hooty Sapper…ticker〃 by Barbara & the Boys whenever they so desired。
Terry started to call Poindexter's in Durham to see if they wanted any； but decided fuck it and went instead to buy his girl a beer。 A gaudy sunset bathed the downtown in red and purple light； and the slowly darkening streets glistened with the rain that had fallen all afternoon。
One by one the streetlights flickered on。 Terry remembered a summer two or three years ago when there had been a plague of Luna moths。 The huge insects beat against windows and swarmed around streetlights； their broad fragile wings catching the light and making it shift strangely； their color like nothing else in nature…the palest silver…green； the color of ectoplasm or the glow of radiation。 You could find drifts of them tattered and dead in the gutter； their fat furred bodies shriveled to husks。
Soon a flock of bats descended upon the town； roosting in the treetops and church bell towers by day； swooping out at night to catch the Luna moths in their tiny razored jaws。 If the show at the Sacred Yew was boring； the kids would congregate on the street and watch the shadowplay of leathery and iridescent wings； strain to hear the high needling squeal of the bats over the churn of guitars and percussion from the club。 One night Ghost had mused aloud that to the bats； the moths' blood must taste like creme de menthe。
Terry wondered what had bee of the new kids。 He thought Zach might have just hit the other side of town and kept driving； that boy looked like he might have someplace to be in a hurry。 And he guessed Trevor was still out at the murder house。 Hell of a thing； Bobby McGee's son ing back after all these years。
Well； Kinsey would know the lowdown。 Terry hastened his step toward the Yew； toward friends and music and the taste of a cold beer in his favorite bar on a summer's evening。
By ten o'clock Terry had had five cold beers and had forgotten all about Zach。 But Zach had not hit the other side of town； had not even returned to his car except to check the locks and pull it around to the side of the house。 He had found a place he liked； and he had every intention of setting up camp here for a few days unless Trevor objected。 But he didn't think Trevor would。
When they came in from the rainstorm； Trevor excused himself to put on dry clothes and disappeared down the hall。 Zach followed a few minutes later and found him sprawled on a bare mattress in one of the back bedrooms。 Naked and almost painfully thin； long hair spread out around his head like a corona； he was already deeply asleep。
Zach watched him for several moments but could not disturb him。 Trevor had spent the last three nights sleeping on a Greyhound bus； a couch； and a drawing table； he deserved some bed rest。 Zach got one of Kinsey's blankets and covered him。 As he did so he saw gooseflesh shivering across Trevor's chest； water droplets still caught in the cup of his navel and the damp tangle of his pubic hair。 He imagined the salty taste those droplets would have if he were to bend down and lick them away。
Now you want to molest him in his sleep。 It was Eddy's voice； out of nowhere。 Christ； Zach； why don't you just buy a blow…up love doll on Bourbon Street and be done with it？
Fuck you； Eddy。
As he turned away from the bed he noticed drawings tacked to the walls。 Monsters and fanciful houses； unfamiliar landscapes。 And faces； all kinds of faces。 A child's drawings…but a child with obvious talent； with an eye for line and proportion； with an untrammeled imagination。 This was Trevor's own room。
Zach left Trevor to sleep and started exploring the house。 At the end of the hall was the bathroom where Bobby had died。 There was no window in this room； and Zach did not think to try the switch。 He stood on the threshold staring into the unlit chamber； saw porcelain gleaming dully beneath layers of dirt and cobweb。 The shower curtain rod was bent； almost buckled。 Zach wondered if Trevor had seen that yet。
Something about the bathroom's geometry seemed wrong； as if the angle at which walls met ceiling were slightly skewed。 It made Zach feel dizzy； almost nauseated。 He turned away and went into the room across the hall； which was the studio。 He saw Trevor's sketchbook lying open on the drawing table and slowly flipped through the pages。 The drawings were very good。 Zach had read one issue of Birdland； and he thought Trevor's style was already technically better than Bobby's。 The lines were surer； the faces finer and more subtle； with layer upon layer of nuance lurking in the expressions he captured。
But Bobby's work had always had a certain fractured warmth to it。 No matter how sordid and vile his characters were…the junkies and glib beatniks and talking saxophones who got laid more often than their human counterparts…you always felt they were pawns in an indifferent universe； butts of an existential joke with no punch line。 Trevor's work was harsher； icier。 His universe was not indifferent but cruel。 He knew his punch line： the crumpled； bleeding woman in the doorway； the broken bodies of the musicians； the burning cops。
And others； as Zach paged back through the book。 So many others。 So many beautifully drawn dead bodies。
He checked out the master bedroom and its walk…in closet； saw little of interest…the parents hadn't brought much of their own stuff； probably； after fitting Bobby's art supplies and the kids' things in the car there wouldn't have been much space left。
He crossed the hall to Didi's room； stopped dead on the threshold and stared at the huge dark mass boiling through the window； then realized it was kudzu。 Zach wondered how long it would be before the vines filled the room from floor to ceiling。 He took in the bloodstain on the mattress； the spatters high on the wall。 Trevor said the hammer had appeared in the opposite corner； next to the small closet。 Zach looked at the area； even prodded the kudzu with the toe of his sneaker； but found nothing unusual。
He had heard of objects instantaneously being transported from one place to another； they were called 〃apports〃 and were supposed to be warm to the touch； as Trevor said the hammer had been。 Zach wasn't sure he believed in apports； but he couldn't think of another way it might have gotten there。 If it was the same hammer。
But if it wasn't； where had the dried blood and tissue e from？ Zach didn't even want to wonder。 It had to be the same one； that made more sense than thinking Trevor had bought another one and smeared it with sheep brains or something。 Zach was not an implicit believer in the supernatural； but he didn't believe in scaring up improbable natural explanations just to rule it out； either。 Nature was a plex system； there had to be more to it than anyone could understand from looking at the surface。
The kitchen was large and old…fashioned； with a free…standing sink and a gas range。 A real farmhouse kitchen； or so Zach imagined。 He opened the refrigerator and was surprised to see the light e on。 He hadn't tested the electricity； he realized； he had forgotten about it until now。
In the fridge was a juice bottle with a half inch of black sludge at the bottom； some kind of vegetable matter mummified beyond recognition； and a Tupperware container whose contents he dared not contemplate： he'd heard Tupperware coffins could preserve human remains for twenty years or more； so who knew what they could do to leftovers？ Zach retrieved the Cokes and bottled water from the living room and arranged them on the shelf next to the juice。
He checked Trevor again； found him still sleeping。 Zach began to get bored。 He picked his way across the living room； went out to his car； and got the bag that held his laptop puter and cellular phone。 He thought he might be staying here for a few days； and he wanted to give Eddy a more specific message than the one he had left last night。 If he dialed in now； he thought he could just make the deadline。
Zach accessed the Times…Picayune's puter； typed rapidly for several minutes； then pressed the keys to send his article。 After he had done that； he was still restless。 He found a square of yellow Post…it notes in his bag； scribbled down a few phone codes； and stuck them on the edge of the table。 They were numbers he might need in a hurry； and he didn't think Trevor would mind。
Then； just for the hell of it； he dialed into Mutanet。 He didn't log in with his own password； of course； since They might be monitoring the board。 But Zach had long since acquired full systems…operator privileges on Mutanet； though he had discreetly neglected to mention this fact to the sysop。 The sysop fancied himself a Discordian； or worshiper of the chaotic goddess Eris； and his password was POEE5。
First Zach read the messages on the main board； scanning them for his handle。
MESSAGE： 65
FROM： K0DEz KID
TO： ALL MUTANTS
〃Lucio〃 got busted today！！
Hahahahahahaa！ ！ ！ ！ ！
MESSAGE： 73
FROM： ZOMBI
TO： K0DEz KID
If you had a googolth of Lucio's hacking
skill you would not take such sick joy in
his misfortune…You're wrong； KiddO…somebody warned him Sat。 nite and he's long gone
MESSAGE： 76
FROM： AKKER
TO： MUTOIDS
Zombi's right！ I； Akker the H…akker；
founder of the Data Acquisition and Retrieval Team （DART）； cracked the Secret
Service's system and found the warrant to
search Lucio's house。 It was I who warned
him in time！ ！ Power to DART！ ！ ！ ： …）
MESSAGE： 80
FROM： ST。 GULIK； YR。 HUMBLE SYSOP
TO： ANYONE READING THIS
Lucio can't get on this board anymore。 I
disabled his account。 If he tries to con…tact you； don't talk to him。 For all we know he could have gotten busted and turned informant。 Anyone known to still have contact with him will be kicked off Mutanet！ A paranoid hacker is a free hacker！
That caught Zach's interest； so he checked the sysop's personal mail。 There was only one message。
FROM： ZOMBI
TO： ST。 BOGUS
FUCK YOUR FASCIST BOARD…； D00D！ YOU'D BE THE FIRST TO TURN RAT IF A KKKOMPUTER KKKOPNAILED YOUR WHITE ASS！！！ YOUR ADDRESS IS 622 FRAZIER ST。 IN METAIRIE AND IF YOU KEEP TELLING kidZ WHO NOT TO TALK TO； I WILL FIRST POST IT ON BOARDS ALL OVER THE COUNTRY； THEN E OVER THERE AND PERSONALLY INTRODUCE YOUR TEETH TO SOME OF THAT CHAOS YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO WORSHIP （BUT DON'T SEEMTO） ！ AND BY THE WAY；； AKKER DIDN'T WARN LUCIO
。。。 I DID！！ ！
Zach nearly fell off his chair； laughing。 He'd known he could count on Zombi。 He left two messages； the first on the main board where everyone could read it； the second personal。
FROM： LUCIO
TO： ST。 PARANOID
Pleez don't kick me off the board…； Br'er
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