Zero History

76. GONE-AWAY GIRL
Milgrim stood, feeling lost, remembering the sound of Fiona’s Kawasaki fading to
nothing at all.
She’d gotten a message from Garreth and was gone, leaving her chicken and bacon
sandwich uneaten on the table in the Vegas cube, but not before she’d snapped a short
length of transparent nylon line to tiny eyebolts, front and rear, on the paint-dazzled
penguin. He’d helped her steer it through the door, and she’d anchored it, atop Benny’s
huge red tool kit, by placing a hammer on the fishing line. Then she’d quickly returned to
the cube, where she’d given him the penguin’s iPhone. “That little van I brought you here
in,” she said, “will be here shortly. Wait in the yard, with the penguin. It’ll fit in the
back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t know.” Zipping up her jacket.
“Am I going to the same place?”
“Depends on Garreth,” she’d said, and for a moment he’d imagined she might be about
to kiss him, maybe just on the cheek, but she hadn’t. “Take care of yourself,” she said.
“You too.”
Then she was out the door, and gone.
He’d carefully rewrapped her sandwich, tucking it into one of the huge side pockets of
the nylon jacket, which he’d kept on. He’d give it to her if he saw her later. Then he
noticed Mrs. Benny’s black helmet on the table, and took it to mean he wouldn’t be riding
with Fiona tonight. He picked it up and sniffed the interior, hoping for hairspray, but
couldn’t find it now.
He put his bag, with the Air, over his shoulder, dialed the Italian umbrella down, and
went out, closing the door behind him. If there was a way to lock it, he didn’t know it.
He went to Benny’s toolbox, freed the penguin, and walked out into the yard, the line
through his left fist, which he held upright, as though he were holding a subway strap.
“Going out?” asked Benny. He held one of the fiberglass cowlings.
Milgrim had had no idea that he was there. How late did Benny work? Or was he
another cog, now, in Garreth’s plan? “They’re picking me up,” said Milgrim.
“Have a good one, then,” said Benny, seemingly paying no attention to the penguin.
“I’ll lock up.”
Then the little Japanese minivan with the curtains and the moonroof pulled up, the
driver’s-side window powering down. A Japanese mini-driver, looking about fifteen, in a
crisp white shirt. “I’ll help you put that in the back,” he said, with a British accent. He cut
the engine and got out.
“Where are we going?”