He slid out of bed and went into the bathroom. He didn't flush, because he didn't want to wake Heather. When he came out, he saw that she had rolled onto her back. Her mouth was open, and strands of her hair were stuck to her face. She wasn't a beauty, as Dolores had been, but she was fun. Blackburn didn't remember ever having laughed in bed before.

He dressed and went out. His plan was to bring Heather a surprise for breakfast. In the night, she had told him a story about a Rice fraternity that had been getting noise complaints from the sorority next door. One morning the sorority women had received a box of donuts from the fraternity, along with a note saying that the donuts were the men's response to the complaints. The women had eaten the donuts for breakfast and then had received another delivery from the fraternity. It was a photograph of all seventy-two men in their dining room, each one naked except for the donut on his penis. Heather thought the story was hilarious, so Blackburn wanted to have a box of donuts waiting for her when she awoke.

The sun had risen, but the air had the sting of a winter night. Blackburn hadn't thought Houston ever got so cold. He breathed deep, and the chill cut into his throat. When he exhaled, his breath was white. He hurried across the parking lot to the Duster, hoping it would start. Its windows were opaque with frost. Blackburn didn't have an ice scraper, but maybe the defroster would do. He unlocked the driver's door and got inside, letting the door slam shut after him. The interior smelled of deodorant soap.

Roy-Boy was sitting in the passenger seat. He was wearing the black sweatsuit again. The sweatshirt's hood was up over his head, and his hands were inside the pouch.

"Morning, Musician," he said, peering out from the hood. "Happy Pearl Harbor Day."

Blackburn was annoyed. "Get out," he said, "and don't come near me again. If you do, you won't do anything else."

"Now, come on," Roy-Boy said. "You're a moral guy, and I haven't done anything to you. You wouldn't whack me for looking at you wrong, would you?"

"You broke into my car," Blackburn said. "In Texas, it's legal to shoot people who break into your car."

"But I didn't break in. This door was unlocked."

"Doesn't matter. You didn't have my permission to enter. So I can shoot you."

"But you don't have your gun."

"I can get it."

Roy-Boy took his hands from his sweatshirt pouch. His right hand held a.22-caliber revolver. "You can try," he said.

Blackburn saw that the.22 was a cheap piece of crap. But at this range, it could kill him just as dead as a.357.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Right now, to get warm," Roy-Boy said. "Then I want to talk a little. Let's drive, and crank the heater."

Blackburn put the key into the ignition. The Duster whined for a while, then started. The engine sputtered, and the car shook.

"Sounds like ice in the fuel line," Roy-Boy said. "Put a can of Heet in the tank. If you can find it in this city." He opened his door. "Hang on and I'll scrape your windows." He got out, leaving the door open.

Blackburn considered trying to run him over, but decided against it. A bullet might make it through the windshield. So he waited while Roy-Boy scraped. Roy-Boy's scraper was a long, pointed shard of glass with white cloth tape wrapped around one end. Roy-Boy had pulled it from his sweatshirt pouch. He was scraping with his left hand. His right hand, with the pistol, was in the pouch. Blackburn could see the muzzle straining against the fabric. It was pointing at him.

When the windows were clear, Roy-Boy got back inside and closed the door. He licked ice crystals from the glass shard, then replaced it in his pouch and looked at Blackburn. "What're you waiting for?" he asked. He pulled out the.22.

Blackburn drove onto the street and headed for I-10. He would wait for his chance. It would come. It always did.

"So, how was she?" Roy-Boy asked as the Duster entered the freeway.

"Fine."

"I'm glad. I was afraid I'd ruined things for you at The Hoot, so I tried to fix them before I left. Guess I did. What're you gonna do with her now?"

Blackburn glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Are you gonna fuck her again, kill her, or what?"

"Why would I kill her?"

"Because you're a killer, boy. That's what you do, right?"

Blackburn's neck tingled. "What makes you think so?"

Roy-Boy leaned close. When he spoke, his breath was hot on Blackburn's face.

"Takes one to know one," he said.

Blackburn flinched away, bumping his head on the window.

Roy-Boy returned to his previous position. "Don't worry," he said. "I promise not to stick my tongue in your ear or bite through your cheek." He pointed outside. "You just passed a Day-Lite Donut store. If you take the next exit you can cut back to it."

Blackburn stared at him.

"Watch the road," Roy-Boy said.

Blackburn took the next exit. He parked at the donut shop, then put his keys into his coat pocket and clenched his fist. Two keys jutted out between his knuckles. He watched Roy-Boy.

Roy-Boy smiled. "You want to kill me now. You're hoping I won't notice your hand in your pocket."

"You seem to know me pretty well," Blackburn said.

"Oh, yeah. I know you, Musician." Roy-Boy put his pistol into his sweatshirt pouch, then held up his empty hands. "So I also know that if you think about it, you'll decide not to kill me after all. I pulled a gun on you, but only because you pulled a gun on me Wednesday night. I figure we're even."

That made some sense to Blackburn, but it only went so far. "How did you know I was going for donuts?"

"Well, I was shooting the shit with Heather last night," Roy-Boy said. "You know, at The Hoot, while you were in the can. She was telling me about this donut gag some frat pulled. Then you came out this morning with a shit-eating grin on your face, so I thought: donuts. A dozen glazed be okay?" He got out of the car and went into the shop.

Blackburn waited. There was no point in leaving. Roy-Boy knew where he lived.

Roy-Boy returned with a white cardboard box. "I got a few extras," he said, exhaling steam as he entered the car. "Some jelly and some creme. Want one?"

"No."

Roy-Boy opened the box and took out a filled donut. Chocolate creme oozed when he bit into it. He gestured at the Duster's ignition switch. "Don't let me hold you back," he said around a mouthful of pastry. "We can talk while you drive."

"I'd like to sit here awhile," Blackburn said. "If that's all right."

"Sure," Roy-Boy said. He reached up and pushed his sweatshirt hood from his head. "I'm warm now. I just thought you might want to get home to your three fifty-seven. Why'd you take it out of your coat, anyway? Were you afraid Heather might feel it when she hugged you? Or did you shoot her and then leave it in her hand to make it look like suicide?"

"I wouldn't kill a woman."

Roy-Boy's eyebrows rose. "How come? Haven't you run across any who deserved it?"

Blackburn thought of Dolores. "It's just a rule I have."

Roy-Boy shook his head. "Sexist," he said.

"Maybe. But a man's got to have his rules."

Roy-Boy stuffed the rest of the chocolate-creme donut into his mouth. "Yeah," he said, his voice muffled. "If you say so."

"Have you ever killed a woman?" Blackburn asked. His fist tightened around his keys. The windows had fogged. No one could see in.

"No," Roy-Boy said, chewing. His eyes were steady, fixed on Blackburn's. "In fact, I've never killed anyone. But I'm still a killer, because I'd do it if I had to. If it was me or him. Or her."

"Why'd you think I killed Heather?"

"I didn't. I just thought it was a possibility. See, she's got a rep for screwing guys over. Narking on them, taking their money, leaving teeth marks, shit like that. I figured if she did it to you, you'd fix her." Roy-Boy swallowed. "But I was unaware of your rule."