“This is to jog your memory.”

“I already told you, this is definitely the place.”

“We’re not on the street yet.”

“This is it, I feel it.”

“ESP?”

“I get feelings,” she said. “In my hair, the roots get all tingly, means I’m getting a message.”

“Out of the car.”

One block later: “Can we at least go slow, sir? My poor little feet are so sore.”

“I offered to get you some sneakers.”

“With this dress? As if. Can we just go slow?”

Milo exhaled and shortened his steps.

Tasha winked at me.

Ebony night; no sidewalks or streetlights, wide spacing between the properties filled with unruly greenery and old-growth trees.

A world in silhouette.

Tasha said, “That’s the party house, I’m sure. Let’s go.”

“Whisper.”

“Sorry. That’s the party—”

“I heard you. Which one?”

“Um, we’re not there yet.”

“Forward march.”

Ninety seconds later: “That’s the one! All the way on top!”

“Whisper, dammit!”

“Sorry, sorry. That’s it. For sure.”

A long-nailed hand pointed to a low, pale box perched on the uppermost rim of the cul-de-sac.

Milo motioned us to stay in place, hiked past three houses, then four more. Stopped just short of the target. Waited. Hazarded a quick flashlight wash of the façade.

Blank but for a single shuttered window. Garage to the left, with a corrugated aluminum door.

The flashlight beam dipped to a cement walkway. Pines and eucalyptus towered behind the flat roof. Sparse vegetation in front: a spindly yucca plant and a stunted palm.

Milo padded back. “You’re sure?”

Tasha said, “Absolutely, sir. That stupid spiky thing, got a run in my stocking. And over there’s where if you step out in back you can see the sign and over there is where Tony — rest-his-soul — and me walked.”

Tracing the curve of the cul-de-sac. “It’s all coming back to me — out there is where all the coyote screaming came from, I got so scared, sir, it was dark just like it is now. I hate the darkness, can we go?”

“Stay put with my partner.” He retraced his climb, got closer to the pale house.

Tasha said, “All that climbing can’t be good for him.”

I didn’t answer.

“He should work out… You don’t say much, sir… It’s too weird out here, real scary-quiet, know what I mean, like something’s gonna jump out? Like something’s gonna — quiet’s basically an evil thing. The devil likes quiet. The devil likes you to think everything’s nice and quiet then he jumps up and grabs you. This is a bad quiet. Even Fontana had a better quiet than this quiet. When the chickens were all sleeping you could hear the train. I liked to lie in bed listening to the train and wondering where it was going — okay, here he is again, maybe he seen enough and we can get outta here.”