This place had memories, many of them colored by alcohol, his fondest involving Floyd. He and Luke always sat together, and throughout the years had talked about everything: music, sports, politics, film, history, life and death, black and white. They shared stories about growing up in Macon, Georgia (Floyd), and Madison, Wisconsin (Luke). They talked about old dreams and new hopes. Most importantly, Floyd had offered a shoulder to cry on after Lisa went missing. He’d been there when every other face had turned away. They were solid friends, thirty-nine years apart in age, different colors, from different histories, but together they formed a perfect shape.

And for every conversation, every smile, and every tear, there’d been music playing. Usually classic soul. Luke would never tire of the way Floyd’s eyes sparkled when some old hit came through the speakers, and he’d touch his ear delicately and say, I played on this.

But now his eyes had lost their brightness, and his body—storied and ragged—was almost at an end.

“Well?” Floyd asked, and again, his voice and the movement of his mouth were subtly out of synch. “You seen her since?”

“Kitty?”

“Yeah, Kitty. Shit, who else we talking about?”

Another smile found Luke’s lips, but it was touched with sadness. He watched as Floyd let go of his forearm, withdrew his hand, and took another hit of bourbon. Elsewhere, a cop car flashed noisily down Sepulveda, and the music switched to Stevie Wonder singing “A Place in the Sun.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen her.” Luke ran a hand across his face, not surprised to find his eyelashes were damp. “She checked on me later that afternoon, to see if I needed anything—”

“And to make sure you weren’t hanging from a rope in the basement.”

“Well, maybe. I’d actually spent the day cleaning the house, getting my shit together. I also lined up some voice work—another goddamn video game—and booked an appointment with my shrink.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. I’m on new meds now. They’re . . . working.” Luke drummed a finger off the side of his head. “Cloud three, brother.”

“Better than the morgue.”

“Anyway, as a thank-you, I took Kitty over a couple of tickets to the Egyptian Theatre—you know, that art-house place on Hollywood Boulevard. She thanked me, but didn’t seem too impressed.” Luke considered this for a second or two, then shrugged. “Maybe I should have got her an Amazon gift card.”

Floyd rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“We talked for a short time. Neighborly small talk. Then I saw her again earlier this week. I was heading to West Hollywood to audition for some Peacock animated thing. Kitty was meeting a friend in Fairfax, so I drove her.” Luke nodded and drank water. “It was nice. She’s a sweet girl—a sweet woman, I mean. Jesus.”