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Authors: A. M. Riley
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over and over. The damned thing must have had low batteries or something. I tossed it onto the couch. “Of course. You have to eat.”
I was too cranky to answer when he called out his good-bye and left.
Chapter Five
I'm a nocturnal creature.
Not that I wasn't before the change, mind you. The workaday world of drug dealers and vice cops pretty much starts after noon and rolls on into the wee hours. But these days it seemed I could barely keep my eyes open when the sun was up.
So, after I heard Peter's Mustang pull out of his garage, I sort of dozed in front of the tube for a while. Finally, I dropped off completely and only woke when the remote fell from my hand and hit the wood floor.
The morning edition of the news was long gone, and an afternoon soap was on.
“ You told me you weren't seeing her anymore .”
An emaciated woman with stiff blonde hair stalked up and down inside a living room. The actor she was shouting at looked ashamed.
“ It was only coffee ,” he said, looking guilty as sin. “ I felt sorry for her and then …”
“ Timothy told me he saw you leave the hotel with her !” screamed Blondie.
I picked up the phone and dialed Drew.
“I need a ride,” I said.
“I'm busy,” said Drew.
Over the phone I could hear the clickety clack of his fingers on a keyboard.
“Busy playing that stupid game?”
“Busy researching your stiff, as it happens. Everybody is online, freaking out about Justin Lake.”
“He's not my stiff. Who does everybody think killed him?”
“Oh, you know, Bill Gates. The government. Some dude claiming that Lake was working with the Pentagon on something top secret…” Clickety clackety click . “The entire world is
looking for his code. Rumor has it he hid it on an obscure server. Every kid in Hong Kong is searching for the host site as we speak, hoping to find the pot of gold.”
I writhed with impatience. Hey, I can writhe. I'm a frickin' creature of the night. We writhe.
“I've got to get the hell out of here.”
“Betsy's still pissed off at you.” Clickety clack clack went Drew's fingers. “I gave her your message and she gave me a message to give back to you. Um…” He chuckled. “I don't think you want to hear it.”
“Pick me up and I'll talk to her face-to-face.”
A while back Betsy had had the brilliant idea of sealing up the rear of an old ice-cream truck so the interior was light free. Only the driver and passenger seats were exposed to the sun.
Since Drew was the only human in our group, he was, by default, the driver. The fact that he drove like a confused old woman was not factored into this brilliant plan.
Still, it beat sitting trapped in a condo imagining Peter and Jonathan sharing shots at the Academy's Revolver bar.
“Give me the address, and I'll try to get over there,” said Drew.
Here's the thing: given that my associates are a species that survive by sucking the blood of human beings, I was loath to hand Peter's address out to any of them. Caballo knew the alley where I sometimes hid my bike, but he didn't know the name of the man who lived in the building or his specific condo address.
“No way,” I said.
“Dude,” said Drew in a tone that adequately expressed a paragraph of dismay, irritation, and amusement.
I'd been spinning through channels while we talked. Besides the disturbing soap opera, the only game was a rerun of the championships. The news was on a loop, Oprah smiled out at me in a satisfied way, and I clicked the thing off.
“Get Caballo to show you the location of the alley. I'll meet you there.”
* * *
I was a rotten kid.
I grew up in a northern rural part of the United States, the youngest of too many, and made my mother's difficult life just a little more so. I still remember her trying to get me safely dressed to go out in the cold. I'd whine and fidget and fight her while she tried to get my coat buttoned, my mittens tucked up into my sleeves, a scarf adequately sealing off the
I was too cranky to answer when he called out his good-bye and left.
Chapter Five
I'm a nocturnal creature.
Not that I wasn't before the change, mind you. The workaday world of drug dealers and vice cops pretty much starts after noon and rolls on into the wee hours. But these days it seemed I could barely keep my eyes open when the sun was up.
So, after I heard Peter's Mustang pull out of his garage, I sort of dozed in front of the tube for a while. Finally, I dropped off completely and only woke when the remote fell from my hand and hit the wood floor.
The morning edition of the news was long gone, and an afternoon soap was on.
“ You told me you weren't seeing her anymore .”
An emaciated woman with stiff blonde hair stalked up and down inside a living room. The actor she was shouting at looked ashamed.
“ It was only coffee ,” he said, looking guilty as sin. “ I felt sorry for her and then …”
“ Timothy told me he saw you leave the hotel with her !” screamed Blondie.
I picked up the phone and dialed Drew.
“I need a ride,” I said.
“I'm busy,” said Drew.
Over the phone I could hear the clickety clack of his fingers on a keyboard.
“Busy playing that stupid game?”
“Busy researching your stiff, as it happens. Everybody is online, freaking out about Justin Lake.”
“He's not my stiff. Who does everybody think killed him?”
“Oh, you know, Bill Gates. The government. Some dude claiming that Lake was working with the Pentagon on something top secret…” Clickety clackety click . “The entire world is
looking for his code. Rumor has it he hid it on an obscure server. Every kid in Hong Kong is searching for the host site as we speak, hoping to find the pot of gold.”
I writhed with impatience. Hey, I can writhe. I'm a frickin' creature of the night. We writhe.
“I've got to get the hell out of here.”
“Betsy's still pissed off at you.” Clickety clack clack went Drew's fingers. “I gave her your message and she gave me a message to give back to you. Um…” He chuckled. “I don't think you want to hear it.”
“Pick me up and I'll talk to her face-to-face.”
A while back Betsy had had the brilliant idea of sealing up the rear of an old ice-cream truck so the interior was light free. Only the driver and passenger seats were exposed to the sun.
Since Drew was the only human in our group, he was, by default, the driver. The fact that he drove like a confused old woman was not factored into this brilliant plan.
Still, it beat sitting trapped in a condo imagining Peter and Jonathan sharing shots at the Academy's Revolver bar.
“Give me the address, and I'll try to get over there,” said Drew.
Here's the thing: given that my associates are a species that survive by sucking the blood of human beings, I was loath to hand Peter's address out to any of them. Caballo knew the alley where I sometimes hid my bike, but he didn't know the name of the man who lived in the building or his specific condo address.
“No way,” I said.
“Dude,” said Drew in a tone that adequately expressed a paragraph of dismay, irritation, and amusement.
I'd been spinning through channels while we talked. Besides the disturbing soap opera, the only game was a rerun of the championships. The news was on a loop, Oprah smiled out at me in a satisfied way, and I clicked the thing off.
“Get Caballo to show you the location of the alley. I'll meet you there.”
* * *
I was a rotten kid.
I grew up in a northern rural part of the United States, the youngest of too many, and made my mother's difficult life just a little more so. I still remember her trying to get me safely dressed to go out in the cold. I'd whine and fidget and fight her while she tried to get my coat buttoned, my mittens tucked up into my sleeves, a scarf adequately sealing off the
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