Pat stumbled back to the bedroom. Thin pink sheets, one limp pillow, more perfume and sanitary smells masking other odors. A whore’s bed that could be turned over quick. He fell back onto the mattress. The girl slithered in between his legs and coiled into his chest. She unclasped her bra. They kissed as Carmen closed the door, and this girl looked at him with an expression that was neither here nor there, and again Pat thought of that pathetic distance between two people. Even in this moment. Especially in this moment. He took a deep breath and swung his hips into hers, his body seeking the concavity of hers, and she held him back and stroked him, and Pat buried himself in her hair and the nape of her neck. He tried to relax, but with all those drinks, he went soft, and Lupita looked up at him. His eyes rolled back into his head, and she tried again, more rubbing, her other hand brushing his chest, like she was applying a salve.

But Pat wasn’t there anymore. He had blacked out. A noiseless iceberg drifting across a dark and empty sea.

December 7

[ DECEMBER 7 ]

Rain drummed down on the windshield of the silver Mercury Zephyr as Anne Malone sat through a stale light, the screech and smear of the wipers keeping a bleary time. The hiccup in the wipers was a lot like the hitch in Pat’s stride, Anne thought, which reminded her of a lot of other worrisome things. So she sat there sadly, considering her life in three-second smudges.

A December Monday morning coming down—Pearl Harbor Day—and Anne was on her way back from jury duty. She had reported at eight thirty a.m. to the jury break room. Nine a.m. passed, then ten a.m., and the bailiff came in to take orders for a coffee run but shrugged when asked what the delay was. Then at ten forty-five they were called to the courtroom. The lawyers Whiteside and Blackburn were standing in conference with Judge Barefoot Sam, who was hunched over, a dark blue Kentucky bow tie dangling from his neck. The bailiff and the stenographer were the only other people present—the court was empty, the gallery cleared. Anne immediately noticed that Standing Raleigh was missing. Did they let him off? No, no way . . .

Judge Sam did a quick tally of the jury, rubbed the rheum from one eye, and started in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, we are missing our defendant this morning. His whereabouts are known: he is at Baylor Medical.”

Blackburn returned to his table and started packing up his suitcase. Whiteside smiled wearily at the jury.

“Our trial is suspended until we know more about the medical condition of Reverend Raleigh and he is once again, in the judgment of this court, ready to stand trial.”