“Of course I care. You know where my money is.”
“It’s my money. Does this hovel have cable, because if I have to stay with you I’ll need a lot of distraction.”
“It’s nice as hovels go. There’s indoor toilets and everything.”
Kasabian doesn’t want to go with me but he doesn’t want to stay in the store on his own anymore. He slowly closes his laptop. He’s trying to figure out a way to get me to stay so he doesn’t have to leave, especially on a gimp leg. He drums his fingers on the desk and gives up.
“There’s a tracksuit on the floor next to the bed.”
He has to struggle into the suit because of his leg. I don’t offer to help because I’m not in the mood to get barked at. It takes him a few minutes and he’s sweating but he finally gets the clothes on.
“You look like you’re in the Russian Mob.”
“Yeah? Then carry my crap, Comrade. I’m a cripple.”
We take the same cab back to the Chateau. When I take Kasabian through the clock, he just stands there looking the place over. The celebrity-magazine furniture. The trays of food and booze. The thick robe Candy tossed over the arm of a chair. The epic bedroom with a closet full of clothes.
He limps back into the main room. Holds out his arms and drops them in exasperation.
Finally he says, “Fuck you.”
“Mi casa es su casa blah blah blah.”
“Fuck you.”
“There’s food over there.”
He goes to the spread, balancing himself on furniture on the way over. He looks at it and turns.
I say, “I know. Fuck me. Quit whining. It’s your lucky night. You’re going to help me commit suicide.”
“Goody.”
My new chest scar itches at the thought of me hurting myself again but I don’t have a lot of choices.
Before I off myself, I dial the clinic to check on Candy. No answer. Are they busy or screening my calls? I let it ring and then call back. Still nothing. Not a problem.
I leave Kasabian sucking down a plate of filet mignon and onion rings the size of horseshoes while Django the Bastard plays on the big screen. I forgot how movies look better when they’re not on a laptop screen. It’s a nice change. I don’t bother saying good-bye. Between the movie and the food, Kasabian wouldn’t hear me anyway. I go to the garage, steal a Volvo (every crook’s go-to car when they don’t want to be noticed) and drive to the clinic.
Traffic isn’t bad. Everyone who isn’t running for the hills must be bugging in. I only have to run a couple of red lights to get across town. When I get there, I beach the Volvo across three spaces in the parking lot, get out, and give the clinic door a copper knock. That authoritative knuckle rap cops have to master before they get to make the donut run solo.
The door opens and Allegra comes out, pulling it closed behind her.
“You thought if you didn’t answer the phone, I’d just go away?”
“Sorry. I thought the answering machine was on.”
“ ’Course you did. I want to see Candy.”
I start for the door but Allegra puts her hand on my chest. Then pulls it away when she touches the armor.
“She’s all right. It was just a slash and didn’t go too deep. I closed her up and gave her something to sleep. She’ll be out for a few hours. Rinko’s taking care of her.”
“Speak of the Devil.”
Rinko hits Allegra’s shoulder when she pushes open the clinic door. She comes right up to me. I’m ready for the slap I know is coming. I got her girlfriend hurt. I won’t even try to stop her.
Rinko’s hand flashes up. The shirt rips. Sparks kick off the armor. She slashes down again with the scalpel, this time at my throat. I step back and catch her hand, shoving her hard enough into the clinic door to rattle the glass.