ow they were in Jackson. McCracken navigated the car, calling out directions from the back, then firing up the volume on the radio until the moment just before another turn. Then he’d whip down the volume and navigate again.

Angela hadn’t said much so far. There’d be more to her later in life, though she wouldn’t remember the ride in the limousine until she was invited to ride in another one for the purpose of going to a cemetery to watch someone, her mother, I think, get lowered into the dirt.

The neighborhood into which Carl was driving McCracken and Angela was not one that shared its streets with limousines very often. This Carl understood from the reactions of the residents. A middle-aged woman screamed like a child when the car rolled past her porch. Another hiked her skirt as some sort of payment for a ride. On most of the street corners there were knots of young men who were not up to anything good for the community.

McCracken said Carl should pull up in front of such and such a house, and they’d wait there for a few. Angela had to pick up some things and change clothes, he said. Carl got out of the car and stepped to the rear. He opened the door and let the girl out, then got back into the driver’s seat.

“What do you think?” McCracken said.

Carl thought he should keep the engine running. “About Angela?” he said.

“Yeah. Of course about Angela,” McCracken said. “She’s hot.”

“Well. How about that,” Carl said.

“I met her at a club I was playing at here. Did I tell you I was the drummer for the Dukes of Disorder?” he said. “I brought her back to my place. We did it all over the apartment.”

“Great,” Carl said.

McCracken said, “We’re going to pick up a girlfriend of hers. Drive around some more. Maybe we’ll go to the clubs. Me and two girls.” He draped an arm over the divider. “This is going to be a hell of a night.”

Carl smiled and said something mildly encouraging, something that would let
His client know he was happy for him. He started to wonder how old Angela was, and how he would feel if he could know, right then, whether one of his own daughters would someday find herself in the company of a man like McCracken.

Carl dug into the side pocket of his jacket for a cigarette and lit it. The phone rang, and he snapped it from the pedestal rising from the floor of the car.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi. It’s me,” Jean said.

Carl said to McCracken, “It’s my wife. If you’ll excuse me.” He stretched his arm up to the front of the ceiling, near the window, and powered the carpeted divider shut. “Hi,” he said.

Jean said, “Just thought I’d call to let you know. I think it’s started.” she said.

Carl threw the cigarette out the window and pressed the silver tab to close it. “How frequent?”

“Thirty minutes, maybe a little less. Like I said, they just started. They’re not very strong, either. We still have a lot of time.” Jean sounded as though she meant what she said. “Where are you?”