"He's just behind me. He had to get his bags out of the car."
My mother looked over my shoulder and froze as Sally ambled into the foyer.
"Yo, dudes," Sally said.
"What's happening?" Grandma chimed back.
"Jesus H. Christ," my father said, from his chair in the living room.
I carted Rex off to the kitchen and set his cage on the counter. "No one's supposed to know Sally and I are living here."
My mother looked pale. "I won't tell a soul. And I'll kill anyone who does."
My father was on his feet. "What kind of getup is that?" he asked, pointing at Sally. "Is that a kilt? Are you a Scot?"
"Heck no," Grandma said. "He's no Scot. He's a transvestite . . . only he doesn't strap down his dingdong on account of it gives him a rash."
My father looked at Sally. "You mean you're one of them Tinkerbell boys?"
Sally stood up a little taller. "You got a problem with that?"
"What kind of car you drive?"
"Porsche."
My father threw his hands in the air. "You see? A Porsche. Not even an American car. That's what's wrong with you weirdos. You don't want to do nothing like you're supposed to. There wasn't anything wrong with this country when everybody was buying American cars. Now everywhere you look it's some Japanese piece of caca and look at the trouble we're in."
"Porsche is German."
My father rolled his eyes. "German! Now there's a country. They can't even win a war. You think they're gonna help me get what I got coming to me from Social Security?"
I grabbed one of the garbage bags. "Let me help you get this upstairs."
Sally followed after me. "You sure this is okay?"
I had the bag halfway to the second floor. "Yeah. My father likes you. I could tell."
"No, I don't," my father said. "I think he's a fruitcake. And any man who looks that bad in a skirt has a patriotic duty to stay in the closet where no one can see him."
I pushed the bedroom door open, set the bag inside, and gave Sally fresh towels.
Sally was standing in front of the mirror I had on the back of my door.
"You think I look bad in this skirt?" Sally asked.
I studied the skirt. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he looked like a mutant from Planet of the Apes. He was probably the hairiest transvestite ever to wear a garter belt. "It's not terrible, but I think you're more of a straight skirt kind of guy. And leather is good on you."
"Dolores Dominatrix."
More like Wanda the Werewolf. "You could go with the wholesome look," I said, "but it would require a lot of shaving."
"Fuck that," Sally said. "I hate shaving."
"You could try a body waxing."
"Man, I did that once. Shit, it hurt like hell."
Good thing he didn't have ovaries.
"Now what?" Sally said. "I can't go to bed this early. I'm a night person."
"We don't have a car so we're sort of limited, but Morelli's only about a half mile from here. We could walk over and see if anything's happening. Look through your stuff and see if you have something dark."
Five minutes later Sally came downstairs in black jeans and a faded black T-shirt.
"We're going for a walk," I said. "Don't feel like you have to wait up. I have a key."
Grandma sidled up to me. "Do you want the 'big boy'?" she whispered.
"No, but thanks for offering."
SALLY AND I strained our eyes and ears all the way to Morelli's neighborhood. Unlike Lula, who never admitted to being scared, Sally and I were perfectly comfortable with the knowledge that Sugar had us ready to jump out of our skin.
We stopped at the corner of Morelli's block and looked things over. There were cars on either side of the street. No vans. Morelli's truck was parked, so I guessed Morelli was home. Shades were still drawn, and the lights were on. I assumed there was someone watching the outside of the house, but I couldn't pick him out.
This was a nice neighborhood. Similar to my parents'. Not as prosperous. Houses were mostly occupied by seniors who'd lived there all their adult lives or by young couples just starting out. The seniors were on fixed incomes, clipping coupons, buying tennis shoes on sale at Kmart, doing only the most essential house maintenance, thankful their mortgages were paid and they could stay in their homes for taxes. The young couples painted and papered and filled their houses with furniture