Chapter Nine

Brent pounded on the heavy gray door, a duplicate of every other gray door in the dimly lit corridor. A shadow moved behind the peephole but no one answered. He put his ear against the door. "There's people in there. I can hear them talking." He pounded again. "Sylvia! I know you're in there."

There was a scrabble against the inside of the door and then it opened a crack, held by the security chain. A pasty dark-haired woman, her eyes ringed in black eyeliner, pressed her face to the opening. "Go away. I told you I didn't want you coming over here. And quiet down-- the neighbors will hear you."

"I don't care who hears me," Brent said. "If you want me to quiet down, you'll have to let me in."

"I'll call security."

"And I'll tell them you're running a distribution business in there."

Sylvia's eyes narrowed. "I haven't done that in years."

"Really?" He tried to peer past her into the room. "You've sure got a lot of company in there tonight, for someone who doesn't do that anymore."

"Can't a person have a party?"

"Oh sure," Brent said. "People have late-night parties on weeknights all the time. What kind of party favors you got? Think the security guard would like some? That is, if you feel like you really need to have him come over."

Sylvia clenched her jaw and stared defiantly into Brent's eyes. Then she shut the door. There was a sound of further scratching as the chain was released, and then the door swung open. "Welcome to my humble abode," she said coldly.

Brent and Joe stepped inside. The room was furnished in bulky utilitarian style, bare of rugs and ornaments, and gave the impression of being more of an institution than a home. A black-clad couple lounged on the sofa in front of a wide-screen TV, entranced by a commercial for Ajax. A pale redhead sat at their feet, placidly staring into a mirror in misty-eyed wonder at her reflection. Over in the dining nook, just visible from the front door, a tall man with a goatee looked up from scraping a white rock across a little mesh screen. "Hello," he called out amiably, setting the rock on a piece of broken mirror and licking his fingers. "What can we get you gentlemen?"

Sylvia stepped to Brent's side. "Gerry, you remember Brent, don't you? Everyone called him Richie because he lived in Oak Crest and always had money."

The man nodded in recognition. "Yeah, I remember. The one that used to drink Heineken in the Zarathustra parking lot when we'd go slumming." He snorted. "No wonder the real punks always picked you out for a poseur."

Brent cast his eyes down and examined the toes of his shoes. "Thanks for reminding me."

"You helped Elise study for her calculus final, though," he went on. "I know I didn't say it at the time, but that was really nice of you. That class was a bitch."

"You didn't seem to think it was so nice of me at the time. You thought I was trying to steal her from you."

"That's because you were." He waved a hand. "But hey, that's all ancient history."

"Besides, he was a possessive little twit back then," Sylvia butted in. She turned to Gerry. "I'm surprised you didn't bind all your girlfriends' feet and make them walk three paces behind you."

"Well, I'm a changed man, thanks to you, sweetie," Gerry countered. He threw Brent a knowing wink. "But hey, I'm forgetting my manners. The liquor is in the kitchen." He made a vague gesture that could indicate almost any direction. "And the stronger stuff is over here." He motioned toward a rock resting on the mirror beside several little white mounds. Tiny bags of white powder were lined up at one end of the table where a nervous young woman examined them, sniffling, while her leather-clad boyfriend fingered a stack of bills.

Sylvia' pale lips stretched into a tight hostess smile. "You and your friend are our guests now, so please help yourselves." She looked at Joe and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, extending her hand, "I didn't catch your name. I'm Sylvia."

Joe looked into Sylvia's round face and kohl-rimmed eyes. He shook her hand. "Joseph Urgulano, Elise's husband. Call me Joe."

Sylvia smiled primly. "Nice to meet you." She turned back to Brent. "So what brings you two here tonight?"

"I think you know why we're here," Brent said.

Sylvia's eyes flashed from one face to the other, her expression all innocence. "I really have no idea. I take it this isn't a social call, though, judging from your urgency and the state of your pants. What happened? Did a dog get you?"

"Your security fence got me," Brent said ruefully.

Sylvia nodded. "I wondered how you got in. Let's go in the kitchen and get you guys a drink, and you can tell me what this is all about."

She began to lead the way toward the kitchen, Brent following, but Joe refused. "I don't want a drink. I just want to know where Elise is."

Everyone in the room looked up at the mention of Elise's name. "She's not here," Sylvia said. "Now come into the kitchen. Would you like a beer? Scotch? Margarita?"

"I told you, I don't want a drink," Joe repeated. "I'm just here to find my wife."

Sylvia darted a nervous glance at Gerry, who had gone back to breaking up his rock. He shrugged, then looked Joe in the eye. "She isn't here, man, but if you don't believe us, look around." He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. "Check the closets, look under the bed, do whatever you think you got to do."

Joe headed down the hall, ignoring Brent's gesture that he should follow him to the kitchen instead. Brent turned to Sylvia with a small sigh of resignation. "He'll be right back. We really did think she'd be here."