“Morning, sunshine.”
“Do you smell anything funny?”
“No. What’s wrong with you?”
I know it’s in my head, but I swear I can still smell Drifter gunk all over me.
“Nothing. Just a funny dream.”
“Good for you. Get dressed. I don’t need your junk staring at me while I’m trying to work.”
Last night’s clothes are getting burned as soon as I get some lighter fluid. I find a pair of jeans tossed over the back of a chair and one clean and folded T-shirt in the drawer. Thank the gods of laundry for wash-and-fold places.
“You’ve got some donuts left over from the last night, but the coffee is cold.”
The crumpled donut bag is on the floor near the head of the bed. I open it, take out one of the old-fashioneds and take a bite. I can’t taste it. I’m afraid to breathe because I might get a whiff of Drifter. I go in the bathroom, gargle, and wash my face in cold water.
“You didn’t talk much when you got back last night. You’re no fun when you go to bed sober.”
The bullet wound in my side still looks pretty raw. It doesn’t hurt, but it should have faded to just another scar by now. I’ll have to ask Allegra about that. If she’s talking to me.
I sit on the bed and eat the rest of the donut. I can sort of taste it now.
“What happened last night? All you did was grunt when you got back and then you were running a marathon all night in your sleep. Chasing bunnies again, Lassie?”
“There anything in the Codex about Drifters?”
“Lots. Why?”
“I think I killed some with a friend last night.”
“Is that what they’re doing in Hollywood instead of aerobics? Who did you hunt coffin jockeys with?”
“I just met her. Name is Brigitte Bardo. She’s supposed to be kind of an actress in Europe.”
Kasabian looks at me for a minute.
“Are you shitting me? The star of Cosmonauts of Sodom Brigitte Bardo?”
“I have no idea.”
“You’d know her. She has a tattoo of an angel that starts on her stomach and the wings wrap around her and up her back.”
“I wasn’t looking at her stomach.”
“Oh man. She does this scene with these two other chicks.”
“I don’t need to hear about this from you.”
“No, listen. All the chick cosmonauts quit the space program and joined a traveling circus. They’re all dressed like clowns, only their noses are dildos—”
“Stop right there and tell me about Drifters.”
He stares at me. If he had regular hands, he’d give me the finger.
“At least get me her autograph.”
“If you promise not to talk about clown fucking, I’ll get her to Xerox her ass for you.”