He starts to open his mouth as if to say more, but then he spots a guy with thick horn-rimmed glasses and the most elaborate pompadour I’ve ever seen. He’s standing with a girl with short bangs and bright red lipstick. “That’s Hidecki,” Ben says. “He knew Meg pretty well.”
Ben introduces us and we talk for a bit, but neither Hidecki nor the girl he’s with know anything about Meg or the health center. After a while, I run out of questions, and Hidecki asks about the cats.
“You know about the cats?”
The girl he’s with tells me that Hidecki donated a hundred dollars to their rehabilitation fund. “So he feels invested,” she says.
“A hundred dollars,” I say. “You must like cats.”
“I liked Meg,” he corrects. “She also saved me at least that much money when she fixed my amplifier.”
“She fixed your amp?”
He nods. “Swapped the volume pot and showed me how to do it. I was skeptical, but she knew how to handle a soldering gun.”
“Yeah. She did,” I say. “And the cats are fine. Ben adopted them, actually.”
“Ben?” He gives Ben a look I wouldn’t exactly describe as friendly.
“Yeah. Even has pictures on his phone. Ben, show him your pictures.”
“Another time,” Ben says tersely. “We should hit some more clubs.”
We go to three more places. I meet all these people who knew Meg. Who miss Meg. But no one knows about the health center. I get some names and email addresses of other people she was friendly with. By four in the morning, we have no direct leads but a bunch of contacts to follow up on. I’m so tired, my legs feel like they might collapse from under me, and the whites of Ben’s eyes are redder than Stoner Richard’s after a few bowls. I suggest we call it a night.
When we get back to his house, he leads me to his bedroom. I stop in the hallway outside of it, like it’s radioactive in there. He looks at me. “You crash in here. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“That’s okay. I’ll take the couch,” I reply.
“It’s more comfortable here. And quiet.”
I wince. “Sorry, Ben, but there’s, like, a petri dish of half of Seattle’s female population on your sheets.”
“It’s not like that, Cody.”
I scoff. “Really?”
“Clem was a while—oh, forget it. I’ll just change the sheets for you.”
“I’m fine to take the couch.”
“Let me change the damn sheets, Cody.” I can’t blame him for being pissed. It is five in the morning, and he did just come back from an eight-night tour of sleeping on floors and in vans. But even so, he makes the bed, plumping the pillows and pulling down the comforter in one corner so it looks all inviting.
I snuggle into the pillows. The cats scramble to the foot of the bed and tuck in there, their nightly spot, I gather.
I hear Ben brush his teeth, and then I hear the floorboards creaking under his feet. He stops in his doorway, and for a second I’m scared he’s going to come in and for a second I’m scared I might want him to. But he just stands there.
“Good night, Cody.”