– Tacky, Joe.
– Yeah, well.
I'm halfway up the stairs, Hurley behind me, when Terry calls after.
– By the way, what happened to your face?
– Rolled out of bed this morning and pulled open the curtain. Don't know what it is, I just keep thinking I'm still alive or something.
– Be careful about that, Joe. Thinking like that, it gets us dead.
– So I hear.
Then I'm through the basement door, into the hallway, and out onto the street, Hurley right behind me. We're on Avenue D between 5th and 6th. Hurley starts walking north toward 6th and I follow him.
– So how 'bout my guns, Hurley?
– Terry says I gotta walk ya a ways first.
– OK.
We turn west onto 6th.
– Sorry 'bout clobber'n ya from behind an all.
– Yeah, sure.
We're about halfway down the block when he stops and turns to me.
– Sorry, Joe.
– So you said, Hurley.
– Naw, I mean sorry bout dis.
– Sorry about what?
– Terry says I got ta rough ya up some.
I blink.
– When the hell did he say that? I didn't hear him say that.
– He told me when ya was still out.
– What the hell for?
– He said it was fer ben a smart mout.
– What the hell? I was out cold, I hadn't even had a chance to smart off.
– Yeah, but he said ya would. He said yer always a smart mout.
– This ain't right.
– Like I said, sorry, Joe, but I got ta do it. It's my job.
– Calling it your job don't make it right, Hurley.
– Whatever.
And he goes to work on me. He's pretty good about it, stays away from my face, and only cracks a couple ribs. When he's done I'm slumped down on the sidewalk with my back against a building. He tosses the guns on my lap and heads back to Society headquarters.
– Keep yer nose clean, Joe.
– Yeah, thanks for the advice.
I could go back, take my guns, kick down the door and blast away. With any luck I'd take out two of them. With a lot of luck I might get them all. But what would be the point? Their people would come after me. And Terry and me really do go back a ways. Hell, there was a time I almost bought all that Society line of crap. Terry's dream of uniting all the Vampyre and taking us public to live like
It takes over half an hour for me to hobble home clutching my ribs. By the time I crawl into bed it's almost four in the morning and I'm not even thinking about looking for that carrier anymore.
The phone rings about an hour after I fall into a painful sleep.
–
– Hey, Joe, it's me. If you're in bed don't pick up.
Evie's voice. I pick up the phone.
– Hey.
– You asleep?
– Thinking about it.
– You're asleep, aren't you?
– Just barely. What's up?
– Nothing, I just got off work.
– You OK?
– Yeah, a little lonely.
– You want to come over, watch a movie?
There's a brief silence.
– No. You should sleep. You don't sleep enough.
– I'll sleep when I'm dead. Come over.
– No, I just wanted to hear your voice. I'll be OK now. You get some sleep.
– Yeah, sleep.
– You around tomorrow night?
I think about the carrier still out there and the deadline that I've already blown.
– Think I'm gonna be tied up.
– Maybe you can drop by the bar and say hi.
– I'll do that.
– OK. Sleep tight.
– You too.
She hangs up and so do I.
I met Evie about two years back. She tends bar at a place over on 9th and C. I was there looking for a deadbeat who owed a guy some money. She was behind the bar of this honky-tonk in the middle of Alphabet City. Curly red hair, freckles, twenty-two, wearing an Elvis T-shirt and a pair of Daisy Dukes.
I come in and ask her if she knows the deadbeat. She gives me a fish eye while she digs a couple of Lone Stars out of the cooler and bangs them down in front of a lesbian couple necking at the bar. They snap out of it long enough to pay up, then go back to their alternative lifestyle.
– Who's looking for him?
I peer over my right shoulder, then over my left, and back at her.
– I guess that must be me.
– What you want him for?
– He's a deadbeat and I'm gonna collect on some debts he owes.
She looks me over.
– Uh-huh. You ever seen this guy you're looking for?
– Nope.
She smiles a little to herself.
– Well, you just sit quiet and have a drink and listen to the music. If this guy comes in, maybe I'll let you know. What're you having?
I lean over the bar to look down in the ice bin at the piles of Lone Star bottles, and nothing else. -Guess I'll have a Lone Star.
She pulls one out, pops the cap and slaps it down.
– Man of discriminating tastes.
– Yeah.
She moves off to work the bar and I find a corner a little less crowded than the others. I do like she said, stay quiet, have a drink and listen to the music. And maybe sneak a look at her from time to time. There's a jam session going. Bunch of bluegrass sidemen pick'n and grin'n and playing up a storm. Not my usual bag, but they know what they're doing.
An hour goes by like that before I catch her looking over at me and she waves me to the bar. I squeeze
