"Julie?" The girl repeated her own name, sounding as if she'd been roused from sleep.

My heart slipped in an extra beat and my teeth grabbed for my lower lip.

Oh, G.o.d.

I was looking at a face that had lived no more than fifteen years. Its color could be described only in shades of gray. The pallid skin, the cracked lips, the vacant, recessed eyes with their somber underlining looked like those of someone long deprived of sunlight.

Julie stared at us without expression, as if our images were slow in forming in her brain, or recognition a complex exercise. Then.

"Can I have one, Jewel?" English. She reached a trembling hand across the table. The inside of her elbow looked purple in the room's muted glow. Slender gray worms crawled across the veins on her inner wrist.

Jewel lit a Player and handed it to her. Julie pulled the smoke deep into her lungs, held it, then blew it upward in a Jewel pantomime.

"Yeah. Oh yeah," she said. A tiny sc.r.a.p of cigarette paper stuck to her lower lip.

She drew again, eyes closed, completely absorbed by the smoking ritual. We waited. Double tasking was not within Julie's capacity.

Jewel looked at me, eyes unreadable. I let her lead.

"Julie, darlin', you been workin'?"

"Some." The girl sucked another long drag, blew two streams of smoke from her nose. We watched them dissolve, silvery clouds in the reddish light.

Jewel and I were silent while Julie smoked. She didn't seem to question our being there. I doubted she questioned much of anything.

After a while she finished, stubbed out the b.u.t.t, and looked at us. She seemed to consider what benefit our presence might hold.

"I haven't eaten today," she said. Like her eyes, her voice was flat and empty.

I glanced at Jewel. She shrugged and reached for another cigarette. I looked around. No menus. No blackboards.

"They got burgers."

"Would you like one?" How much cash did I bring?

"Banco does them."

"Okay."

She leaned from the booth and called to the bartender.

"Banco. Can I get a burger? With cheese?" She sounded six years old.

"You've got a tab, Jules."

"I'll get it," I said, sticking my head out of the booth.

Banco was leaning against the bar sink, arms folded across his chest. They looked like baobab branches.

"One?" He pushed off.

I looked at Jewel. She shook her head.

"One."

I turned back to the booth. Julie had slumped into the corner, her drink held loosely in two hands. Her jaw hung slack, leaving her mouth partially open. The paper still rode her lower lip. I wanted to pick it off, but she seemed unaware. A microwave beeped, then hummed. Jewel smoked.

Shortly, the microwave gave four beeps, and Banco appeared with the burger, steaming in its plastic wrapper. He placed it in front of Julie and looked from Jewel to me. I ordered club soda. Jewel shook her head.

Julie tore the cellophane, then lifted the top to inspect the contents of the bun. Satisfied, she took a bite. When Banco brought my drink, I stole a peek at my watch. Three-twenty. I began to think Jewel would never speak again.

"Where you been workin', sugar?"

"Nowheres special." Through a mouthful of bun and burger.

"Haven't seen you lately."

"I was sick."

"You feelin' better now?"

"Mm."

"Working the Main?"

"Some."

"You still doing that little creep with the nightie?" Casual.

"Who?" She ran her tongue around the edge of the burger, like a child with an ice cream cone.

"Guy with the knife."

"Knife?" Absently.

"You know, chere, little man likes to stroke his tallywacker while you model his mama's sleepwear?"

Julie's chewing slowed then stopped, but she didn't answer. Her face looked like putty, smooth, gray, and without expression.

Jewel's nails clicked against the tabletop. "Come on, sugar, let's turn it up a notch. You know who I'm talking about?"

Julie swallowed, glanced up, then returned her attention to the burger.

"What about him?" She took a bite.

"Just wonderin' if he's still around."

"Who's she?" Garbled.

"Tempe Brennan. She's a friend of Dr. Macaulay. You know her, don't you, chere?"

"Something wrong with this guy, Jewel? He got the gon or AIDS or something? Why you asking about him?"

It was like interrogating a magic eight ball. If answers floated up at all they were random, not tied to specific questions.

"No, honey, I just wondered if he's still comin' around."

Julie's eyes met mine. They looked uninhabited.

"You work with her?" she asked me, her chin glistening with grease.

"Something like that," Jewel answered for me. "She'd like to talk to this nightie guy."

"'Bout what?"

"Usual stuff," said Jewel.

"She a deaf-mute or something? Why can't she talk for herself?"

I started to speak, but Jewel wagged me silent.

Julie didn't seem to expect an answer. She finished the last of the burger and licked her fingers, one by one. Finally.

"What's with this guy? Jesus, he was talking about her, too."

Fear surged through every nerve in my body.

"Talking about who?" I blurted.

Julie regarded me, jaw slack, mouth half open as before. When not speaking or eating she seemed unable, or unwilling, to maintain its closure. I could see specks of food in her lower teeth.

"Why do you want to turn this guy?" she asked.

"Turn him?"

"He's the only steady bang I've got."

"She's not interested in turning anybody, she'd just like to talk to him." Jewel.

Julie sipped her drink. I tried again.

"What did you mean, 'he was talking about her, too'? Who was he talking about, Julie?" A look of bewilderment crossed her face, as if she'd already forgotten her words.

"Who was your regular talking about, Julie?" Jewel's voice was growing weary.

"You know, the old lady that hangs around, kinda butchy, with the nose ring and the weird hair?" She tucked one of her own lank strands behind an ear. "She's nice, though. She bought me doughnuts a couple of times. Isn't that who you're talking about?"

I ignored Jewel's warning squint.

"What was he saying about her?"

"He was p.i.s.sed off at her or something. I don't know. I don't listen to what a trick says. I just f.u.c.k 'em and keep my ears and my mouth shut. It's healthier."

"But this guy's a regular."

"Kinda."

"Any particular times?" I couldn't help myself. Jewel gave me an "Okay, you're on your own" gesture.

"What is this, Jewel? Why's she asking me all this?" Again, she sounded like a child.

"Tempe wants to talk to him. That's all."

"I can really do without this guy getting busted. He's a creep, but it's regular money, and I need it real bad."

"I know, sugar."

Julie swirled the last of her drink then tossed it back. Her eyes avoided mine.

"And I'm not going to quit doing him. I don't care what anybody says. So he's weird, so what, it's not like he's going to kill me or nothing. h.e.l.l, I don't even have to f.u.c.k him. And what else would I do with my Thursdays? Take a cla.s.s? Go to the opera? If I don't do him some other wh.o.r.e will."

It was the first emotion she'd shown, the adolescent bravado a contrast to her previous listlessness. I ached for her. But I feared for Gabby, and wouldn't let up.

"Have you seen Gabby lately?" I tried to sound softer.

"What?"

"Dr. Macaulay. Have you seen her recently?"

The lines between her eyes deepened, reminding me of Margot, though the shepherd probably had better short-term memory.

"The old lady with the nose ring," said Jewel, emphasizing the age indicator.

"Oh." Julie closed her mouth, then let it drop back open. "No. I've been sick."

Stay cool, Brennan. You almost have enough.

"Are you better now?" I asked.

She shrugged.

"Will you be okay?"

She nodded.

"Do you want anything else?"

She shook her head.