” “They were my posters,” Annabel said. ‘But tell me this instead. You look like a movie star. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ‘Merely making a useful contact. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are.
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