She really wants to say no.
“Fuck it. Sure.”
As we head for one of the porthole windows Candy says, “Where are you two off to?”
“Smoke break,” says Alessa.
Candy frowns.
“You said you were quitting.”
“I am. But I almost got shot tonight.”
“Plus, there’s me,” I say.
“Plus, there’s him.”
Candy looks at us a little nervously.
“Play nice. Both of you. We’ll figure things out.”
“I know,” says Alessa.
We go into the living room and I pop one of the windows open. Forty-year-old L.A. air drifts in. I wish I could smell it. Johnny Thunders, Nico, and Sergio Leone are breathing that air.
I light the Sherman, take a puff, and hand it to Alessa.
Neither of us talks for a while. We just pass the cigarette back and forth.
I tap some ashes out the window and say, “I’m dying. By this time tomorrow I might be dead for good.”
Alessa says, “Does Candy know?”
“I told her. She’s going to be upset if it happens.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”
“Good.”
I give her the last puff of the cigarette. She stubs it out against the sole of her shoe and tosses it out the window. I close it and we head back to the kitchen.
“In the meantime,” I say, “you and me don’t have to be enemies.”
Alessa stops.
“And if you live?”
“Not then either as far as I’m concerned.”
“This is going to get complicated.”
“Not if I die.”
She gives me a look. “Stop saying that. You think I want someone Candy cares about dead?”
“It would uncomplicate things.”
“No it wouldn’t. They’d just be complicated in a different way.”