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“Late July, nineteen eighty. You, and me, and Larry. Out in your Dad’s truck, in the woods, before it got light. You wanted to go spot birds, and I wanted to go home. But Larry said no, let’s do something different. And he took out the cards. So okay, you said, you want to play gin rummy? And Larry laughed. It’s not like that, he said. Now draw.

“So we all took one card. And then Larry made us stop the truck, right near the shore. Just before the sun comes up, when all the stars are dead. And the lake was still. Now look at your card, Larry said, and I looked down. And my card was a picture of four sticks, lashed together and hung with some kind of fur, standing in front of a river. Like a door.

“And underneath it was written the word: SKIN.”

* * *

Inside the Meat Market, girls jiggle and sway like parade balloons—white, swollen, shiny as plastic wrap. Strobe lights pulse. Squinting, Mike spots the bartender: A tall skinhead,

deep in conversation with an even taller transvestite wearing a lime-green mini dress.

Up and down the bar, tattoos bloom, bright as mold.

Mike elbows his way in. “’Scuse me—”

Next stool over, a yuppie with his shirt open to his waist howls with laughter. Bottles click together.

“I said, ‘scuse me?”

The bartender turns, slipping his customary scowl back into place. “Can I help you, buddy?”

Oh, Christ.

“Well, yes,” Mike replies brightly. “Actually, you can. I’m looking for a girl—”

Deadpan: “What a shock.”

“—named Sherri.”

No immediate reaction. The light turns orange. Cheers greet the next number.

“Sherri?” Mike repeats.

The transvestite blows a smoke ring. The bartender jerks his scalp toward the front. “Back there. In pink.”

Mike turns. One door’s propped open, spilling noise. Beyond, shadows move and posture. A faint gleam of rose-colored plastic shimmers, becomes an arm clutching a battered leather bag whose long white fringes seem chewed. Now a profile, once pretty, but equally worn. Between them, couples thrash.

“Thanks,” Mike says, pushing off.

* * *

“There’s nothing on my card, you said. And Larry smiled, like he expected it or something.

“Nothing on mine either, he said.

“Then he looked at me.

“Later, you told me Larry said I should stare at the card and try to make the door open. To want it to. So I did. And you started feeling like there was somebody watching us. Let’s go, you said. And Larry said no, something’s gonna happen. Like he knew it would. And when he said that, I started to make this noise deep in my throat.

“So then you got mad, and you said you were going to start the truck, and Larry could go to hell if he wanted but we were going back. But as you reached past me, I grabbed your arm. Hard. And it was like my nails were longer or something, because I was hurting you. And you said hey, Adage, let go, hey, what’s wrong with you?

“And then I looked up, I grinned. And you screamed.

“You told me my mouth was full of blood.”

* * *

“Sherri?”