Zeni and Dicky are at a nightclub with Dicky’s brother, Ricky, and friend, Terry, when Dicky keeps disappearing. Part of the scene is laid out here:
“I’ll be right back. That tequila didn’t agree with me,” Dicky said a few minutes later before disappearing across the club into a fog of dry ice and strobe lights. Micky took a seat in the booth next to Terry.
“All right, Micky. What in the hell’s going on?” I asked, pushing the upper part of Terry’s body into the back of the booth to give me a clear line of vision to Micky. “Dicky’s like Houdini tonight. One minute he’s here, and the next, he’s vamoosed.”
“Uh, uh . . . he’s uh, uh . . .”
“You and everyone else have avoided making eye contact with me. And Dicky’s completely ignored me, like I have the plague or something. Now what in the hell’s going on? Come on. Spill it.”
“Nothing’s going on,” Micky replied, looking at the ceiling.
“There. You did it again. You won’t look at me,” I said, growing increasingly frustrated. “I’ve had enough. I’m going to find Dicky.”
I then scooted my butt along the seat of the booth until I reached the edge of it. Once I was at the edge, I attempted to stand, but almost fell when the heel of my shoe got caught in a piece of torn carpet.
“Damn!” I said, in a very loud voice.