Xander swiped his phone again and brought up another app. Google Maps. He tapped on the screen and zoomed in on Kitty’s street. There was Kitty’s apartment building. A slightly fish-eyed view of it, at least. Xander whipped the camera around and there was the Dodge, parked in the driveway of the house opposite.

“They’re neighbors,” Xander said. Tiny beads of spittle had gathered in the corners of his mouth. “We were waiting in her apartment and she was across the fucking street the whole time.”

“And she’s probably there right now,” Johan said.

“Yeah, unless that prick actor has put her on a bus back to Kentucky,” Xander suggested. “She can’t stay in L.A., right? Not if she’s supposed to be dead.”

“Only one way to find out,” Johan said. He imagined Kitty and Luke with their rib cages open and their lungs flopped over their shoulders. “Is the Mustang ready to roll?”

“The engine’s smooth but the body’s still rough.”

“It’s fine; it looks like it’s been in a fight.” Johan touched the tattoo on the back of his left hand. “Pull it out front. I’m going to get Krókr.”

“We’re doing this now?”

“Right now.”

“I’m down with that. We’ll do them like you did Sly Boy.”

Johan said, “It won’t be that quick.”

16
Nueva Vida

They rolled east on I-40 with the sun on the windshield and their visors down. It was like driving into a headache. Luke’s Wayfarers deadened the glare, but it was still bright enough that he needed to adjust his speed. It didn’t help that the air conditioner was broken. They buzzed their windows down, which at least kept the car’s interior from feeling so muggy and still. Kitty turned up the stereo to neutralize the wind noise.

Luke stopped for gas outside Barstow—for human fuel, too, in the form of two large coffees. He also selected a pair of cheap shades for Kitty from the spinning rack next to the beef jerky.

“I was okay with my hand over my eyes,” Kitty said, but she took the shades gratefully and put them on.

“They were twelve bucks,” Luke said. He hooked his cell phone and other assorted crap—coins, candy wrappers, hand sanitizer—from the cup holders, making room for their coffees. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to miss the breathtaking scenery.”

“You mean the arid wastelands of southeastern California?”

“Exactly.” Luke grinned and cranked the ignition.

They drove across the High Desert, colorless and dry all the way to the horizon. It was punctuated by dusty towns, skeletal scrub, and volcanic rock. Road signs announced exits and attractions in lackluster tones. The distant mountains were as dark as lead, drawing a serrated line between the pale land and paler sky.

“How long before we get there?” Kitty asked.