“Mind if I smoke?” the guy was saying.

“Care if I die?” says the girl.

Then Jimmy saw him, a man in a Navy peacoat and watch cap. And this a warm night, too. He leaned against a wall next to a turquoise nightclub. This one was young, in his twenties. He drank from a bottle of water, his eyes on Jimmy, a sour expression on his face, a sour smile, as though remembering a sick joke.

They were called Sailors.

A trio of Valley teenagers walked past him, stopped to read the names of the bands on the club marquee. The man in the peacoat ignored them, took another drink of water, kept his eyes on Jimmy.

There was an edge of blue light around him, at least to Jimmy’s eyes.

“I know you, Brother,” he looked at Jimmy and mouthed.

Suddenly the passenger door opened and a girl plopped into the seat beside him, a very young girl in a very short skirt. She yanked the door closed, as if that settled something, closed the deal.

“Hi, what’s your name?” she said, like she was thirteen.

Jimmy looked over at the turquoise nightclub. The man in the peacoat and watch cap raised his bottle of water in salute.

The light turned green.

“You’d better get out,” Jimmy said to the girl.

“Let’s just ride around,” she said. “Just until it stops raining.”

“It’s not going to rain for four months,” Jimmy said.

“It rained earlier.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re not very friendly,” she said with a pout someone must have told her was sexy. The car behind the Porsche flicked its lights. Jimmy pulled out.

“I’ll take you to the All American Burger,” he said.

“Cool.” She tugged at the hem of the skirt under her and changed the station on the radio.

“I hate this song,” she said.