Middle Of Nowhere

   "The lipstick," he said brightly, the grieving brother suddenly gone.

   She didn't like the fact that he could throw the switch so quickly. Another in a long series of red flags alerting her to his instability. Boldt had plenty to fear from this man—Flek was capable of pulling the trigger.

   He said, "Try the other color. I'll tell you which is best, which I like. It's a date, right? Poulsbo? A dinner date. Right? I'll tell you which one is better." He switched on the ceiling light.

   "I ah—" They approached the Agate Passage bridge. "Listen," she said, "I don't want to put you out. If the casino is easier for you, let's do that. I can call a cab from Poulsbo and he'll be there in a matter of minutes."

   "Don't try to change the subject!" he objected. "I'm telling you: I think you look great. But try the other color and I'll tell you what I think."

   "But I left it. . . . I think. The lipstick. . . . I'm sure I did."

   "Look," he said, nudging the purse closer to her with his open palm. As he touched the purse his head snapped up, his eyes intense and dangerous. Had he felt the gun barrel? He knows! she thought, this time with more certainty. "See if you've got it . . . if you brought it with you . . . I'd like to see it on you." He couldn't take his eyes off her purse. She thought he might wreck the car.

   She couldn't open the purse. Her gun was near the top—she'd made sure of that on the ferry—right where she could reach it in a hurry. "I don't think so," she said. "You said you like this color. That's good enough for me."

   "Come on," he pleaded.

   She dragged the purse to her lap as they drove onto the bridge. She was thinking that if there was a place to pull the weapon and force him over it was there, where the car was restricted. She hadn't thought any of this out clearly enough. Improvisation was fine, but did not come naturally to a mind preoccupied with consideration, even fear. She angled the purse toward her and slipped her hand inside. The cool metal of the weapon washed a sense of relief through her. The rose lipstick had settled on the bottom amid Tampax, a Flair pen, and loose quarters. Her fingers danced between the two: the handgun and the lipstick.

   Flek watched all this with one eye while driving with the other, unable to see into the purse. "Well?" he asked, as if knowing the dilemma she faced.

   She pulled her hand from the purse ever so slowly and produced the lipstick and a crumpled tissue. "Found it!" she crowed.

   "I knew it!" He pounded the steering wheel, suddenly a little boy. "Lemme see. Lemme see."

   She snapped the purse shut, wondering if that was a mistake. "You mind?" she said, taking hold of the car's rear view mirror.

   "Go 'head."

   She smudged her lips onto the tissue, removing the sand colored lipstick and then carefully applied the rose, her attention on the mirror. She could feel him staring.

   He said, "Both lips. You do both lips. My mother . . . she used to wear this really red lipstick. Would do just the top lip, the upper lip, you know, and then kiss her lips together to get it onto her lower."

   "Bright colors, you can do that," Daphne said. She kissed her lips together a few times and presented herself to him. "Duh-duh," she trumpeted like a fanfare. "What do you think?"

   He stared a little too long. She caught herself check ing the road. "She wore bright lipstick all the time, your mother?"

   "I got it," he said confidently, meaning she could take her eyes off the road. "I'm not gonna hit no one."

   In control, she thought. "What about the rose?"

   "It's sexier," he said.

   He successfully turned the attention away from himself, and she felt resentful of this. She wanted to get back to discussion of his mother. "My mother—" she said, "I'm probably older than you . . . but she wore this fire-engine red lipstick, and I mean really big on her mouth."

   "My mother was a waitress," he said. "And she sold clothes too for a while. And bartended and stuff. Changed jobs all the time, but I don't think she ever changed that lipstick."

   "Is she still alive?"

   "Booze got her. It was a long time ago."

   "Do you drink?"

   He glanced over at her again. "That one's way sexier than the other one."

   "You think?" She tried to sound flattered.

   The road, state highway 305, swung left past the casino toward Poulsbo. Suquamish—Indianola was to the right. Flek followed traffic.