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d died。 The back rooms would be dusty but intact。 He wondered what Trevor would find in them。
Kinsey measured coffee； poured cold tapwater into the machine； and； as the old percolator began to bubble and steam； fell to gazing out his kitchen window at his own backyard。 He had a little vegetable garden； but otherwise the grasses and trees grew wild。 Kinsey liked it that way； home to any flying； slithering； or crawling thing that cared to take up residence。 But it was not as snarled and shadow…stained； not as forbidding a landscape as the house on Violin Road。
The house where Trevor must be now； even as Kinsey sipped his first milky cup of morning coffee。
Kinsey's mother had cured him of Christian prayer long ago。 He tried to think of a Zen koan that might be of use to Trevor； but the only one he could remember was 〃Why has Bodhidharma no beard？〃 which didn't seem to apply。 But then koans weren't supposed to apply。
His head full of ghosts； little smirking Buddhas； and secondhand treasures； Kinsey stood woolgathering for the better part of an hour in his own clean forting kitchen。
Hank Williams's nasal twang poured out of the car speakers as raw and potent as moonshine spiked with honey。 Zach pondered it as he drove。 It should not have been a remarkable voice； it was nothing but a po'bucker whine straight from the backwoods of Alabama。 But there was something golden and tragic in it； some lost soul that fell to its knees and sobbed every time Hank opened his mouth。
He'd been meandering north on 1…40 and surrounding roads when he saw the turnoff for Highway 42。 Zach loved the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series； and the sign reminded him that the number forty…two was the answer to life； the universe； and everything。 It pulled him as inexorably as the lights of South of the Border had done。 Soon he was driving down a two…lane blacktop shrouded in rags and tatters of predawn mist； and several times he caught himself singing lustily along with Hank。
The little town only caught his attention because of its curious name and weird architecture； to his road…weary eyes it seemed that the entire downtown was decorated with wagon wheels and spinning barbers' poles。 He almost drove on through； but caught himself drifting across the center line and decided to stop for a quick nap。
Zach pulled into an alley and came upon a small lot where several other cars were already parked。 The friendly local deputy…dawg wouldn't bother him here； at any rate he was only going to stretch his tired bones across the seat； close his eyes for a few minutes； then get moving again 。 。 。
He slept for six hours in the parking lot behind the Whirling Disc record store。 The lot was also used for storage by an adjacent auto parts store； and the Mustang was not noticed among the other junkers for some time。 When he finally woke； the sun had risen high and hot； his body was bathed in sweat； and Terry Buckett was peering into the car； tapping worriedly on the window。
〃Man！ I thought you were dead for sure！〃 Terry took a hit off Zach's pipe and passed it back； shaking his head； letting the fragrant smoke leak out the corners of his mouth。 〃You looked like somebody had shot you and left you lyin' there across the seat。 All that was missing was the brains on the window。〃
Zach suppressed a shudder。 He didn't think the FBI would shoot a hacker on sight； but he wasn't sure about the Secret Service。 （The NSA probably kept hackers alive for torture and interrogation later； but their jurisdiction was largely military； and military secrets had never much appealed to him。）
They were sitting on crates in the dim； cool back room of the record store； and though Zach felt an undeniable echo of Leaf and Pass Christian； Terry was obviously as straight as the day was hot。 There was no definable characteristic that told him this； the pheromones just weren't there。 It was a good thing too； Zach thought； after stewing in his own juices all morning he was sure he stank abominably。
As if to confirm this； a girl with long brown hair stuck her head through the curtain； blinked big Cleopatra eyes against the gloom； and wrinkled her nose。 〃Terry？〃
〃Back here； Vie。〃 The girl picked her way through the boxes and rolled…up posters； long gauzy skirt swishing around her ankles。 When she got closer； Zach saw that she was wearing a skintight tank top； as if to accentuate the fact that she had absolutely no breasts。 Eddy had had a phrase for strippers built like that： Nipples on a rib。
The girl leaned down to Terry。 Zach thought they were going to kiss； but instead Terry blew into her mouth a long stream of smoke； which she sucked in expertly。 Tendrils of it seeped from her narrow nostrils and curled around her head。 Terry cupped the back of her thigh through the full skirt。 〃This is my gal Victoria。 Vie； meet Zach。 He just rolled into town this morning。〃
〃Looks like we gain two for every one we lose。〃 At Terry's questioning look； she added； 〃You told me about that guy who came in Saturday。 Now him。〃
〃Yeah； so who'd we lose？〃
〃Omigod； you don't know！〃 Victoria clapped her hands over her mouth。 Zach wasn't sure； but it looked as if she might be hiding a sudden； guilty smirk。 〃That girl Rima？ The one Kinsey fired for stealing from the Yew？ She had a wreck out on the highway。 Totaled her car and broke her back。 They found cocaine all over the place。〃
〃Gee； Vie； you sound pretty upset about it。〃
〃Yeah； right。〃 From the sudden chill in the air Zach guessed that Rima had e on to Terry at some point； though if she was such a loser he doubted Terry had slept with her。 Terry seemed like that rarest of all creatures； a genuinely guileless Decent Guy。 Besides； you probably couldn't get away with much in a little town like this。
〃Well 。 。 。〃 A shadow passed over Terry's face。 He obviously felt bad about the girl； but didn't want to hurt Victoria's feelings。 〃She didn't kill anyone else？〃
Victoria shook her head； and Terry brightened a little。 Zach believed this was known as Looking on the Bright Side； also as Pulling the Wool Over Your Own Eyes。 He didn't say anything； though； the last thing he needed now was to annoy anyone。
So he loaded another bowl and sat around the back of the store with them for a while longer； listening to gossip about people he didn't know； occasionally asking a question or offering a ment； hacking the scene； making the connections； weaving himself into the net。 It was possible anywhere； though it could be a damn sight tougher than breaking into a puter。
When Terry's morning crew （one sleepy…looking teenager with a tattoo so fresh it was still bleeding） showed up； Terry and Victoria took Zach down the street for greasy grilled cheese sandwiches at the local diner。 The waitress refilled Zach's water glass with tea； and when he took a sip of it without noticing； his nerves began to crackle and fizz like a string of firecrackers。 For all of that； he felt good。 He liked this town。
After lunch Victoria had to go to work…she sorted and mended old clothes at some downtown thrift shop…and Terry offered to show Zach the local dive before he went back to the record store。 By the time they were halfway down the street； Zach was eagerly picturing the inside of a bar。 It would be calm and dark and air…conditioned； like a little pocket of nighttime in the middle of the hot afternoon。 It would be forting with the sharp scents of liquor and the grainy smell of beer on tap； lit by the soft watery glow of a Budweiser clock or a neon Dixie sign。 He might have been picturing any of a hundred bars in the French Quarter； but the Sacred Yew was like none of them； and Zach had yet to learn how difficult it was to find Dixie beer anywhere but New Orleans。
Trevor woke at the drawing table with cramped muscles； an aching head； and a painfully full bladder。 The green…tinted sunlight streaming through the studio windows made him wince and rub his eyes as he had seen Bobby do in the grip of countless bourbon hangovers。 But he hadn't had the dream of not…drawing last night。
He stood up without looking at the pages he had drawn； stumbled out of the room； back through the hall and living room； out onto the vine…shrouded porch where he stood urinating into the kudzu； squinting out at the empty road。
The day glistened in emerald splendor； grass stems and spiderwebs still bejeweled with yesterday's rain； inviting Trevor to e out and enjoy the sun awhile。 Instead he stood for a few minutes in the shelter of the porch； breathing deeply of air that did not smell like mildew or dry rot。 From the quality of the light he thought it was early afternoon。
This time twenty years ago； Momma's friends from the art class had been ing up these steps； knocking worriedly on the door； then letting themselves into the house and finding him among the bodies。 The man with the gentle hands had been picking him up； carrying him out of the carnage。 For an instant Trevor almost remembered what he had been thinking at that moment： something about the Devil。 But it eluded him。
Soon he turned and went back into the soft gloom of the house。 Without giving himself time to think about it he crossed t