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that's where she is," Alice said.
        "You're full of shit," Ernesto said, and nodded at Domingo, and Domingo cut her.
        Not a serious cut. Just a touch with the blade. Feather light, burning for an instant, and then wetness on her cheek, her hand coming up to touch the wetness, fingers coming away red, and all at once she felt a loosening of her bowels and thought she had soiled herself.
        "Listen," she said.
        They looked at her.
        There was blood on the knife blade.
        "Listen, really," she said. "Jenny's a hooker, the last time I heard she was in L.A., I mean it. If she's back here in Florida, this is the first I'm hearing, I mean it. I talked to my sister yesterday, she didn't mention nothing about Jenny being back, either. So, I mean it, I'm telling you the truth, put away the flicking knife, okay? I'm telling you the truth. I swear to God. Put away the knife, okay?"
        Domingo did not put away the knife. He kept looking at her. There was a very sad expression on his face, as if it had pained him to cut her.
        "Please put it away," she said. "Okay? Please? You make me nervous with that knife, I mean it."
        "You want to get cut again?" Ernesto said.
        "No," she said quickly, "no, I don't. Really." She put her hands up defensively, fingers widespread, palms out. "Really, you don't have to cut me," she said.
        "We don't want to cut you again," Ernesto said.
        "I know you don't," she said, "So don't, okay?"
        "Where is she?" Ernesto said.
        "I don't know where she is, I mean it," Alice said. "If she's in Florida, that's news to me. Look, if I knew where she was I'd tell you in a minute, why wouldn't I? I never liked her, I'd tell you in a minute. I just don't know, that's the truth. So, guys, you know, I'm supposed to meet somebody, I'm late now, I'm overdue, you know what I mean? So if we're finished here…"
        "The sister in Orlando," Ernesto said. "Where?"
        "Aw, come on, guys," Alice said.
        "Her address," Ernesto said.
         "She don't know, either," Alice said. "You don't want to bother her."
        "Cut her," he said to Domingo.
        "No, don't!" Alice said. "She lives near Disney World, I'll get you the address, I've got it in my book, put the knife away, okay?"
        "Get the address," Ernesto said.
        
***
        
        David Larkin didn't like fags. They made him nervous. He always suspected they were trying to touch him. Or stand too close to him. He believed all the stories people told about homosexuals, that if you didn't watch your eight-year-old son, they would take down his pants and bugger him. He believed there was a great homosexual conspiracy to turn the whole world gay. Homosexuals were worse than Communists in that respect.
        The worst thing about Larkin's fears was that he could never be absolutely sure who was gay and who wasn't. He'd get a bead on some guy he thought was a fairy, and next thing you knew he'd see the guy in a restaurant and the guy was with a gorgeous blonde whose tits were spilling out the front of her dress. Down here, the girls wore next to nothing, it drove a man crazy. It was Florida did it to them. The sun boiled their brains, they right away ripped off all their clothes.
        Once, Larkin met a guy he thought was as straight as an arrow, tried to fix him up with a girl who would fuck a sea slug, the guy said, "Thanks, I dress to the right." Meaning he wore his cock on the right-hand side of his pants. Meaning he was a fairy. Not that all fairies wore their cocks that way, this was just the guy's way of speaking. At least, Larkin didn't think they wore their cocks that way, he sure as hell didn't know. But maybe they did. Maybe that was a way all the fairies of the world had of identifying each other, the way they dressed their cocks, right or left. Who the hell knew? It was all very complicated.
        Vincent Hollister was a