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Zero History

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lack-and-white photo of Heidi. “Heidi?”<br />

“I’m at the gym. Hackney.”<br />

“Yes?”<br />

“One of my sparring partners here, he says he knows about your guy.”<br />

The gold squiggles of bullshit faux-Chinese calligraphy on the wall opposite seemed to<br />

shimmer and detach, drifting toward her. She blinked. “He does?”<br />

“You never told me his last name.”<br />

“No,” said Hollis.<br />

“Begins with W, ends with s?<br />

“Yes.”<br />

An uncharacteristic pause. Heidi never thought about what she was going to say. “When<br />

did you last hear from him?”<br />

“Around the time of my U.K. book launch. Why?”<br />

“When are you back here?”<br />

“Tomorrow. What’s this about?”<br />

“Making sure Ajay and I are talking about the same guy.”<br />

“Ajay?”<br />

“He’s Indian. Well, English. I’ll find out what I can, then you and I will talk.” And she<br />

hung up.<br />

Hollis wiped her eyes with the corner of one of the towels, restoring the golden<br />

brushwork to its place on the blood-colored wallpaper, and shivered.

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