The Mars Room(86)

* * *



Since she wasn’t at the Mars Room after his return, he had to go to her building.

At first, he waited out front. But then he went in. There was a booth at the entrance, an old man in it with greasy gray hair that looked yellowish.

“Five dollars,” the man said.

What?

“Five bucks to go up,” the old man shouted at Kurt, as if that clarified. It was a racket. A building where drug dealers lived, and management wanted a cut. The old man snatched Kurt’s five. His hands had long fingernails that looked burnt at the tips, like melted plastic.

People were on the second-floor landing and there was no other word for it: they were milling. Acting shifty, talking in low voices, doors opening and closing. Kurt tried to be casual. Said he was looking for a friend of his.

White girl, huh? You looking for her? Door eight, my man.

Door eight.

Two guys on the landing started arguing. A woman emerged from another room and yelled at one of the men. Kurt knocked on number eight while these people shouted. There was no answer.

Three days, he staked out her building. She did not come or go so far as he knew.

He went to all the usual places. The deli where he’d seen her get sandwiches on break from the Mars Room. The corner market near her flophouse building.

One day he recognized one of the guys from the landing outside, on Taylor, leaning between two cars, selling or buying drugs or whatever he was doing, and the guy said to Kurt, “Your girl moved out.”

He went into the building to speak to the greasy old doorman. Explained he was looking for someone, a tenant.

“Tenants move in and out all the time. Practically every day.”

This girl lived here for a while, Kurt explained. Brown hair. Pretty girl. Nice legs. Nice everything. Know what I mean?

The old guy shook his head. Just no. No to every question you are planning to ask.

“I’m an investigator,” Kurt said obliquely, thinking he’d pretend he was a cop. He’d done it plenty of times, in order to serve papers. It didn’t work.

“Get a warrant, asshole, then you can look at the rent roll.”



* * *



His knee operation had failed and he was going to have to get another. He was in pain all the time and had settled into a new routine of breakfast beer and six-hour naps. When he could, he went over to the Mars Room and hobbled in with the cane he was now forced to use, but she was not there. Angelique told him she had definitely stopped working there, but he suspected Angelique pretended to have information so she could bilk money from Kurt.



* * *



And then it was suddenly Easter, for no reason. He went to the Mars Room and won the Easter egg hunt.

The doorman, big bearded guy, said, “You’re looking for Vanessa, right? She left a message for you, said to give you her address.”

She had moved to Los Angeles. Why did the guy give him her address? He did and didn’t believe that Vanessa wanted him to have it. The doorman had a shit-eating grin. Kurt didn’t see what was funny. He didn’t know if the guy was bullshitting him, or if this was for real, but he had to investigate. He went home, packed a couple things, got on his bike and rode all the way to Los Angeles, stopping only for gas, power bars, and Red Bull to wash down his medication.



* * *



By the time he arrived at the address, his cycle fairing was green with insect guts. The knuckles of his gloves, too. He was in terrific pain. His knee felt like a thing made of brittle plaster that someone had been repeatedly bashing with a ball-peen hammer. It made a crunching noise when he walked. He’d had to use that leg to shift gears all the way down the 5. He wasn’t supposed to be riding at all. He was not supposed to be up and around, not even walking. When he did walk, he had to use two canes, one in each hand.

He found her house and parked. Made it up the three stairs with a lot of effort, and knocked. No one answered. He could have guessed that no one was home. It was a duplex with a glass door and he could see into the place. It had an unoccupied look. It was late afternoon, and hot. There was a porch. It was in the shade, and it had a chair. He sat down in the chair, took two more pain pills. He would rest, and wait for her. He had time. He was not in a hurry.



* * *



He woke to voices. It was dark, he’d slept right into night, and he was confused for a minute, forgot where he was.

There were footsteps on the stairs.

After all this time, here she was. With that kid, who he had decided long ago was not hers, but someone else’s.

“Vanessa,” he said.

His knee was so swollen that if he tried to stand on it he’d fall over. He needed his canes. They had both slipped to the ground, out of reaching distance.

It was dark on the porch. He could not see her well, but from her voice she sounded mad. She said he had to leave.

“Vanessa, sweetheart. Vanessa, I just want to talk to you.” He reached out. He missed her so much. He needed so badly to touch her. To feel the heat of her skin. She reared back, hastily unlocked the door. She put the kid inside and came back out.

All he wanted was to talk to her. He just needed to talk to her. He said that, again.

“Get out,” she said. “Get the fuck out of here.”

He could not stand up. He had a hammer-bashed sack of dust where there was supposed to be a knee and he was unable to put weight on it.