The Driver

“I tripped. Dropped it.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that. It’s not going to put it back together again, is it?”

“I was distracted.”

“I don’t pay you to be distracted.”

“No, you don’t. I’m sorry, Vassily. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s coming out of your wages. Three hundred bucks.”

“Come on, Vassily. It doesn’t cost you that.”

“No, but that’s money I’m going to have to pay back. Three hundred. If you don’t like it, you know where to find the door.”

Milton felt the old, familiar flare of anger. Five years ago, he would not have been able to hold it all in. His fists clenched and unclenched but he remembered what he had learnt in the rooms — that there were some things that you just couldn’t control, and that there was no point in worrying about them — and, with that in mind, the flames flickered and died. It was better that way. Better for Vassily. Better for him.

“Fine,” he said. “That’s fine. You’re right.”

“Clean it up,” Vassily snapped, stabbing an angry finger at the mess on the floor, “and then get that ice delivered. You’re going to be late.”

5

Milton drove the Explorer back across town and arrived ten minutes early for his appointment at six with Trip Macklemore. Mulligan’s was at 330 Townsend Street. There was a small park opposite the entrance and he found a bench that offered an uninterrupted view. He put the girl’s rucksack on the ground next to his feet, picked up a discarded copy of the Chronicle and watched the comings and goings. The fog had lifted a little during the afternoon but it looked as if it was going to thicken again for the evening. He didn’t know what Trip looked like but he guessed the anxious-looking young man who arrived three minutes before they were due to meet was as good a candidate as any. Milton waited for another five minutes, watching the street. There was no sign that Trip had been followed and none that any surveillance had been set up. The people looking for him were good, but that had been Milton’s job for ten years, too, and he was confident that they would not be able to hide from him. He had taught most of them, after all. Satisfied, he got up, dropped the newspaper into the trash can next to the seat, collected the rucksack, crossed the road and went inside.

The man he had seen coming inside was waiting at a table. Milton sca

He allowed himself to relax a little and approached. “Mr. Macklemore?”

“Mr. Smith?”

“That’s right. But you can call me John.”

“Can I get you a beer?”

“That’s alright. I don’t drink.”

“Something else?”

“That’s alright — I’m fine.”

“You don’t mind if I do?”

“No. Of course not.”

The boy went to the bar and Milton checked him out. He guessed he was in his early-twenties. He had a fresh complexion that made him look even younger and a leonine aspect, with a high clear brow and plenty of soft black curls eddying over his ears and along his collar. He had a compact, powerful build. A good looking boy with a healthy colour to his skin. Milton guessed he worked outside, a trade that involved plenty of physical work. He was nervous, fingering the edge of his wallet as he tried to get the bartender’s attention.

“Thanks for coming,” he said when he came back with his beer.

“No problem.”

“You mind me asking — that accent?”

“I’m English.”

“That’s what I thought. What are you doing in San Francisco?”

Milton had no wish to get into a discussion about that. “Working,” he said, closing it off.

Trip put his thumb and forefinger around the neck of the bottle and drank.

“So,” Milton said, “shall we talk about Madison?

“Yes.”

“She hasn’t come back?”

“No. And I’m starting to get worried about it. Like — seriously worried. I was going to give it until ten and then call the police.”

“She’s never done this before?”

“Been out of touch as long as this?” The boy shook his head. “No. Never.”

“When did you see her last?”

“Last night. We went to see an early movie. It finished at eightish, she said she was going out to work and so I kissed her goodnight and went home.”

“She seemed alright to you?”

“Same as ever. Normal.”

“And you’ve tried to call her?”

“Course I have, man. Dozens of times. I got voicemail first of all but now I don’t even get that. The phone’s been shut off. That’s when I really started to worry. She’s never done that before. She gave me your number last night—”

“Why did she do that?”

“She’s careful when she’s working. She didn’t know you.”

Milton was as sure as he could be that Trip was telling the truth.

The boy drank off half of his beer and placed the bottle on the table. “Where did you take her?”

“Up to Belvedere. Do you know it?”

“Not really.”

“There’s a gated community up there. She said she’d been up there before.”

“She’s never mentioned it.”

“There’s a couple of dozen houses. Big places. Plenty of money. There was a party there. A big house just inside the gate. She didn’t tell you about it?”

He shook his head. “She never told me anything. Can’t say it’s something I really want to know about, really, so I never ask. I don’t like her doing it but she’s making money, thousand bucks a night, sometimes — what am I go

“Doing what?”

“I work for the electric company — fix power lines, maintenance, that kind of thing.”

“What does she do with the money?”

“She saves it.”

“She have a kid?”

“No,” he said.

Milton nodded to himself: suckered.

“She’s saving as much as she can so she can write. That’s her dream. I suppose I could ask her to stop but I don’t think she’d pay much attention. She’s strong-willed, Mr. Smith. You probably saw that.”

“I did.”

“And, anyway, it’s only going to be a temporary thing — just until she’s got the money she needs.” He took another swig from the bottle. Milton noticed his hands were shaking. “What happened?”

“I dropped her off and then I waited for her to finish.”

“And?”

“And then I heard a scream.”

“Her?”

“Yes. I went inside to get her.” He paused, wondering how much he should tell the boy. He didn’t want to frighten him more than he was already frightened but he figured he needed to know everything. “She was in a state,” he continued. “She looked terrified. She was out of it, too. Wouldn’t speak to me. I don’t even know if she saw me.”

“Out of it? What does that mean?”

“She ever do drugs?”

“No way,” Trip said. “Never.”

“That’s what she told me, too.” Milton frowned. “I went in to see her and, look, if I had to say I’d say one way or another then I’d say she was definitely on something. She said everyone was trying to kill her. Very paranoid. Her eyes wouldn’t focus and she wasn’t making any sense. I’m not a expert, Trip, I’m not a doctor, but if you asked me to testify to it I’d say she was definitely on something.”

“Maybe her drink was spiked?”

“Maybe,” Milton said. But maybe not. He thought it was more likely that she was doing drugs. A job like that? Milton had helped a girl in the Balkans once during the troubles over there and she had worked up a ferocious heroin habit. The way she had explained it, she’d needed something to deaden herself to the things she had to do to stay alive and that had been as good as anything else. And Madison had kept the details of her hooking away from Trip, so wasn’t it likely that she’d keep this from him, too? Didn’t it stand to reason? No sense in pushing that now, though.