Johona goes off to see to other customers. Jesse watches her out of the corner of his eye, can’t stop. Claudine in tight jeans and a black tank top. She’s got an easy way with people, knows what to say to make them feel good. A nice girl. Claudine wanted to be nice, but because she was a huntress at heart, used kindness mainly as a lure.

Jesse checks on Edgar. He’s getting ready to roll. He apes the form of the bowler next to him, but his ball still ends up in the gutter. The clatter of falling pins from the other lanes is as sharp and startling as firecrackers. It bounces off the high arched ceiling and returns twice as loud.

Johona replaces Jesse’s empty bottle with a full one.

“On me,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Where you from?”

“Guess.”

“Not here. Somewhere down South?”

“West Virginia. But it’s been a while since I’ve been back.”

“So you live in Phoenix now?”

“Passing through. Got work in Denver.”

“Doing what?”

“Construction.”

“Construction?” Johona says. “You’re as pale as a ghost. Give me your hand.”

She runs her thumbs over Jesse’s palm, his fingers. He remembers Claudine’s touch and breaks a little inside.

“You aren’t a construction worker,” she says.

“What am I then?” Jesse says.

“You’re a bank robber.”

“You get a lot of bank robbers in here?”

“No, but we get a hell of a lot of construction workers. I’m on the lookout for something more exciting.”

“Exciting can go different ways.”

“At this point, I’m up for anything.”

Two drunks at the end of the bar call for another round. Jesse forces himself to get up when Johona goes off to serve them. He could stay here all night, watching her and seeing Claudine, but what’s the point? She’s not Claudine. Claudine’s dead. He joins Edgar, who’s sitting at the scorekeeper’s desk and drawing stick figures on the acetone sheet, grinning to see them projected overhead.

“Ready to get your ass whupped?” Jesse says. He picks up a ball, hefts it.

“You ain’t no good,” Edgar says. “You ain’t no better’n me.”

They start a game. Every once in a while Jesse looks toward the bar and catches a glimpse of Johona, and every time it makes him smile. Even better, once or twice he catches her looking at him, and she’s smiling too.

6

6

T​HE ONLY THING ON THE TELEVISION IS A WAR STORY WITH John Wayne. Sometimes Jesse’ll talk like him joshing me but not tonight. He’s been quiet since we got back from bowling. I ask him does he want to play Crazy Eights or Nickle Nock. Watch your show, he says, I’m thinking.