Let me do the talking, says Petey.
Who’s asking? says Fox.
Nobody yet. But they will. We gotta be ready.
No offense, dear boy, says Strabo. But you are the worst possible spokesperson. You’re like Cassandra, of ancient legend. He warned and warned, but no one believed a word he said.
Was he crazy too? asks Fox.
Shut up, says Petey. Just shut up.
It’s barely morning, the sun peeking from behind the clouds over Wallingford. Too early to be up, but the playground on Linden wasn’t all that cozy, especially when the mist turned to drizzle.
Besides, fresh memories made sleep impossible.
I was up all freaking night, says Fox. Waiting for the Gestapo to show up and drag us away.
I’m too old to dodge federales, says Strabo.
But nobody found us, says Petey. Now it’s an easy walk down the hill and out of enemy territory.
People were already leaving their houses and apartment buildings, getting into cars, or strolling toward the neighborhood center.
See all the worker ants, says Strabo. Starting their pleasant peasant days, serving their futile lords.
A bell jingles and Petey dodges as a bicyclist charges down the hill.
Bastard, says Fox. Don’t pedestrians have the right of way on the freaking sidewalk anymore?
He’s a wheeler-dealer, says Strabo. Hurrying to fuel himself on lattes and sushi before making his million-dollar deals. We, on the other hand, contribute nothing. We do not toil, neither do we sin. Society wouldn’t care if we were wiped off the face of the earth by our bicycling betters.
Don’t say that, says Petey, thinking of last night.
The biker parks his flashy white hybrid in front of a coffee shop.
See that? asks Fox.
Yeah, says Petey. Starbucks. Typical.
Get over that, will you? I meant Lance Armstrong there didn’t lock up.
I didn’t see that, says Petey.
You saw, lad, but you didn’t observe, says Strabo. The lock dangles helpless from the rear rack. The ship is unanchored, gentlemen. Shall we be pirates?
I dunno, says Petey.
I do, says Fox. I know a shop near Pioneer Square where they’d pay cash for that bike, no questions asked.
That’s the point, says Petey, shivering. We’re out of our territory.
Out of this city is where we need to be, says Strabo. With the sugar from Sugarman and the ransom from the bicycle we could journey to Everett or Tacoma. Stay incognito until this blows over.
It’s not gonna blow over, says Petey. That woman is dead. The cops won’t stop looking till they pin a tail on somebody.
There’s a cop by the Greek joint, says Fox. Let’s hang a left.
Thirty-Fifth Street is quieter.
Condos everywhere, says Fox. When did this neighborhood fill up with freaking condos?
Why can’t you swear like a normal person? asks Strabo.
Cause I was raised right.
Oh please, Foxy. You were raised by wolves, like Romulus and Rebus.
All these people going by, says Petey. They don’t even see us.
If they did, they’d call the fuzz.
And why not? asks Strabo. What purpose does the constabulary serve if not to protect good citizens from homeless riffraff?
They didn’t protect the girl last night, says Petey.
Something we have in common, dear boy.
We couldn’t stop them, says Petey. By the time we knew what was going on, it was too late.
You said they were up to no good, lad. You could have done something.
You didn’t either.
I’m not the hero, says Strabo. Just an old, old man.
You were scared, says Fox.
Damn right I was, says Petey. You saw Widmark’s face.
Widmark?
The blond one. He looked like Richard Widmark used to. And the dark one with the big puppy eyes looked like Sal Mineo.
You and your cinema worship, says Strabo. What a waste of brain cells.
Sounds like you’re queer for the shortie, says Fox.
I’m not… Damn! We gotta turn around. I’m not going under that bridge.
You’re a real head case, says Fox. Scared of cops, scared of bridges, scared of Starbucks.
I’m not scared of them. I just hate them.
A red PT Cruiser squeezes into a parking space, and a family of tourists pops out, covering their cameras with raincoats and umbrellas, all talking at once.
The daddy comes up, smiling.
Excuse me, is this where they keep the troll?
No, says Strabo. It’s where they keep the minotaur.
Shut up, mutters Petey. The troll’s under the black bridge over there.
That’s why he turned around, says Fox. Scared of the big bad troll.
The daddy frowns. I thought it was the Fremont troll. With a real Volkswagen in its hand?
That’s the one, says Petey.
But that’s the Aurora Bridge. Why isn’t it under the Fremont Bridge over there?
What do we look like, asks Fox, the freaking road department?
Daddy jerks back, as if he just got a better look—or smell. Let’s go, kids. The troll’s over here.
I hate this place, says Petey. What kind of sick mind would put a giant troll statue under a bridge?
Someone who doesn’t have much experience with monsters, says Strabo. There are enough real ones around without encouraging them with monuments.
Widmark and Mineo, says Petey. They were real ones.
Yeah, says Fox. You oughta tell the tourists what the movie stars did to their sister.
That girl was no tourist.
A deduction! How can you tell, maestro?
Fox picked up her address book, remember? All local names and numbers.
But she didn’t put her own name in it, says Fox. That was dumb.
I guess she knew where she lived.
Har har, says Fox. Petey the comic.
We should have helped her, says Strabo.
We couldn’t, says Petey.
In the long eye of the law, dear boy, silence breeds consent.
Now you’re a freaking attorney, says Fox. Oh crap. Look what’s around the corner.
Cops have gathered in force, surrounding the traffic island on 34th Street.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, says Strabo. All the king’s prowl cars and all the king’s men.
They found her, says Petey.
She wasn’t exactly hidden, says Fox. Just lying behind the gray zombies.
Don’t be ignorant, says Strabo. That’s another of Fremont’s fine artworks. Waiting for the Interurban.
The six gray plaster figures are wearing T-shirts today. FREMONT MOISTURE FESTIVAL, reads one.
How did they get the shirts on with the cops around? asks Fox.
They couldn’t, says Petey. The shirts must have been there last night. But we were behind the statues and didn’t see them.
Another deduction, says Strabo.
Uniforms hustle around the statues and a small crowd has gathered on either side of 34th to stand in the drizzle and watch.
Are they looking at us? asks Petey.
It’s okay to watch the cops, says Fox. Everybody’s doing it.
A cat may look at a king, says Strabo. But curiosity kills them both. What killed Abby?
Nobody killed Abby, says Petey.
The young woman lying over there.
That’s not Abby, says Petey. You’re crazy.
I never met your dream girl, says Fox. But you said the chick last night looked like her. That’s why you had us chasing her all over Queen Anne.
Marching after her like a parade, agrees Strabo. But no one was there to help when the beasts attacked.
What are you looking at? Fox asks a sidewalk gawker. The show’s over there, jerk. Don’t look at me.
Now you’ve done it, says Petey. Let’s go.
Across the bridge of sighs?
Too visible, says Fox. Back up the avenue.
I want to get out of Fremont, mutters Petey. This is no place for us.
For Christ’s sake, don’t run, says Fox. In tourist land the three of us running is probable cause.
I used to live here, says Petey.
In the center of the universe, says Strabo. So says the sign, at any rate.
Hear the sirens? asks Fox. They’re taking her away. Finally.
Whoever she is, says Strabo, she’ll be a star now. Just like your cinematic friends.
Let’s get something to eat, suggests Fox. How about this bakery?
Look what’s in the window, says Petey.
Someone had put up photos from the Solstice Parade: giant puppets and naked bicyclists.
No wonder I went crazy. How could anybody stay sane in this place?
Abby did, says Strabo. That’s why she left.
All the food here is too goddamn healthy, says Fox. Let’s go to Starbucks.
Never, says Petey. I’m not giving those bastards one of my hard-earned dollars.
Hard-begged, says Strabo.
Same thing.
You’re not being rational, dear boy.
Har har.
You can’t blame a major corporation simply because your ex-wife married… What was he? A department head?
Coffee king, says Fox. Java general.
The bastard stole Abby from me, says Petey.
She married him—
Brew guru.
Hush. She married him after you went to bedlam, lad. Did you expect her to wait until you achieved compus mentus?
Stuff it.
So what do you want? asks Fox. Starbucks, this bakery, or starve to death? Your choice.
What else’ve you got? asks Petey.
Speaking of destinations, says Strabo, why were Bogart and De Niro—
Widmark and Mineo.
Why were they hanging around Queen Anne in the middle of the night?
To get to the other side, says Fox.
How would I know?
You were just playing detective, dear boy.
Petey sighs. Okay. They weren’t bums like us. Somewhere between yuppies and punks. Looking for drugs, maybe?
Bull, says Fox. They were looking for exactly what they found. A chick walking alone. Somebody to mess up. Two homeless broads got offed last year.
I didn’t know that, says Petey.
Neither one looked like Abby, says Strabo. So you didn’t notice.
They didn’t exactly make the front page.
I wish last night never happened, says Petey.
It wouldn’t have, if they hadn’t been so far off their turf. Usually they stayed near Pioneer Square, where nobody complained much about grubbies and crazies.
But the previous morning they had run into Sugarman, a contractor Petey knew in better days, and he was looking for cheap labor.
Anybody with a green card. You a citizen? Even better. Hop on the truck and you can spend the day digging a trench for bamboo in Queen Anne.
The crew of half a dozen came in under budget and ahead of schedule. Sugarman got a bonus and was so pleased he bought pizza and beer and treated everybody to a picnic in the park.
When the party broke up, close to midnight, Fox had said he’d lead the three of them to a bus stop where they could get back to home base. But then Petey saw the brunette on Nickerson and fell in love.
I’m not in love, he had told them. I just said she looks like Abby.
Every white filly south of fifty looks like your lost angel, said Fox.
She was well under fifty. Maybe twenty-five. Brunette hair pinned up in the back. Tight green dress. Wobbling a little on two-inch heels.
The angel is drunk, said Strabo.
Who isn’t? asked Petey.
You a stalker now?
I just want to make sure she gets home all right.
This isn’t home. She’s cutting through a parking lot.
If she saw us following her, said Strabo, she’d scream for help.
Why don’t you ask her to make you a double tall cappuccino? says Fox. That’s how you met the bitch, isn’t it?
Don’t call her that.
Whoa. Catch those two on the other side of the street. They’re watching her too. Six o’clock for your lady love.
What does that mean?
Behind her.
Two men, about the same age as the lady in green. The tall one had blond hair, was thin, almost gaunt, and vibrated with nervous energy. He wore a red jacket and blue jeans.
His friend was a head shorter and had dark hair. He walked with his shoulders hunched as if attacked by a wind only he could feel. Both of them were so busy watching the lady in green that they never noticed anyone behind them.
She’s headed onto Fourth, said Fox. Up into Petey’s no-go zone.
Petey stumbled to a stop.
Fine, said Strabo. Let’s round up a bus and ride home. Discretion is the bitter part of valor.
I’m following them. They’re up to no good.
What are you now, the freaking cavalry?
Our Petey is a man of chivalry, said Strabo. A white knight in vanished armor. That calls for a song!
Oh where are you going, said Milder to Moulder
Oh we may not tell you, said Festel to Fose
We’re hunting the wren, said John the Red Nose
Hunting the wren, said everyone…
For the love of God, shut up, said Petey. I can’t hear myself think.
The sounds of silence. Har har.
You Philistines! That’s a medieval classic. Part of your heritage.
Yeah, but do you want those creeps across the street to hear you?
Why are they following her? asked Petey.
They like to watch Abby’s ass, said Fox. Same as you.
She’s not Abby. And don’t talk like—Oh crap!
They were on the Fremont Bridge now and the drawbridge was going up.
Why the hell is a boat going by at this time of night? asked Petey.
Probably heading home, said Strabo. Like all sensible people.
They watched the city lights reflecting off the Ship Canal and the bright blue of the bridge.
Look over there, said Strabo.
Off to the right the Aurora Bridge stretched high above them.
Like a long black spider web, said Strabo.
Poetry sucks, said Fox.
Finally the drawbridge dropped into place. They made the long way across.
Where are they? asked Strabo.
Crap, said Fox. Take a look behind the zombies.
I don’t see anyone, said Petey.
Not the movie stars. Your Abby clone.
Slow down, said Strabo. Impatient youngsters!
The woman in green lay on her back behind the zombies, staring up at the sky.
A goner, said Fox.
Where are Lerner and Lowe? asked Strabo.
Who?
The thrill-killers. I don’t want them coming after me.
Gone, said Fox. We should be too.
The woman’s purse lay open on the pavement, leaking its contents, just as her throat had done.
I’m taking the cell phone, said Fox.
No! They can trace us with that, said Strabo. Did the scoundrels liberate her wallet?
Black leather lay in the shadows of a statue. Fox picked it up.
Address book.
Why are we still standing here? asked Petey.
Hell, you’re right. Let’s get up to the woods.
You’re the hero, dear boy, said Strabo. You should have saved her.
It’s them.
Who? asks Fox.
Whom, says Strabo.
Widmark and Mineo, goddamnit. Across Fremont, in front of the music store.
The two stand in front of Dusty Strings. The tall blond bounces to a beat unrelated to the harp music playing through the speakers. His partner’s hands are stuffed deep into his black raincoat.
You see them? asks Petey.
Yeah, yeah, says Fox. They’re real.
But highly improbable, says Strabo. Returning to the scene of the crime?
You called it for once, old man, says Fox. They’re thrill-killers and this is part of the freaking thrill. They were probably around the corner, watching the cops clean up their mess.
Screw it, says Petey, and starts across the street.
Get back here! Are you nuts?
Sure.
Petey strolls through traffic without even noticing it. Cars honk, but he ignores them.
He stops in front of the movie stars. Fox and Strabo are nowhere in sight. Big help, as usual.
You want something? asks Widmark.
Why’d you do it?
They stare at him. He looks back, poker-faced, though he feels like he’s gonna puke.
Mineo backs up to the wall. Widmark just frowns. Do what?
Kill that girl.
Jesus, says Mineo, wide-eyed.
Widmark grabs Petey by the sleeve and pulls him closer, making a face at the smell. What the hell are you talking about?
You cut her throat. I saw you.
Sweet mother of God, says Mineo, and now he looks like he’s gonna puke.
Listen, you freak, says Widmark. You can get in a lot of trouble making up stuff like that. People will think you’re nuts.
Just tell me why you did it, Richard.
Richard? He blinks. Who do you think I am?
Richard Widmark, says Petey. You were great in Kiss of Death. I hated the remake.
Sal Mineo laughs, high-pitched squeals.
Petey curses himself. He knows the blond guy isn’t the actor. But Fremont confuses him, tangles him in its fantasy world. He needs Fox and Strabo to tell him what’s real, and the cowards have turned tail.
You’re a whack job, says Mineo. No one will believe a word you say.
I’ve got her address book, says Petey.
That stops them for a moment.
So what? asks Widmark. That proves you killed her.
You thought it was her wallet, says Petey. You pulled it out of her purse and left it on the pavement. I’ll bet it’s got fingerprints.
The movie stars exchange a glance. I thought you had it, says Mineo.
Shut up, snaps Widmark. He looks around. The rain has given up and more people are on the street. He puts an arm lightly around Petey’s shoulders.
What’s your name?
Petey.
Okay, Petey. Let’s take a little walk and I’ll explain the whole thing.
He shrugs off the arm. I’m not going anywhere with you.
You’ve got us wrong, Petey. Whatever you think you saw—that woman had it coming. She was part of the problem.
Petey frowns. What do you mean?
Widmark chuckles. Think about it, Petey. Think of everything that’s gone wrong in your life. All the backstabbers, all the pointless crap that’s been dumped on you. You remember it?
I remember.
Well, she was the reason for it, Petey. Her and people like her. They’re the cause of all our troubles.
Widmark shrugs. But if you don’t want to know the truth…
Wait. Petey looks around but his friends are nowhere in sight. Damn it.
We can explain it all, but not in a crowd. Come with us, Petey.
Fox and Strabo would tell him to stay the hell away from these two, but they aren’t here, are they? Screw them.
Petey walks between the movie stars, while Widmark talks casually, easily, as if this were any old day. Nobody, nobody sane, has chatted with him like this, like friends, in a long, long time.
They turn right on 34th, heading away from the gray plaster zombies, the scene of the crime, and toward the paved path that runs beside the Ship Canal. All the time Petey looks over his shoulder for Fox and Strabo, but they are nowhere to be seen.
Okay, Petey, says Widmark, here’s the truth. That girl had to go because she was working for the bad guys.
What bad guys?
Widmark laughs. Come on, Petey. You’re a smart man. You already know who the troublemakers are, don’t you? Just say it.
Petey takes a deep breath. The movie stars are staring. He’s all alone, and suddenly terrified of giving the wrong answer.
Starbucks?
Mineo laughs again. He hides his face in his hands, shoulders jerking.
Shut up, says Widmark. This is serious. That’s exactly right, Petey. She was a spy for Starbucks.
Those bastards. They stole my wife.
Sounds just like them. But Petey, you have no idea what they’re really doing. He leans close, eyes narrow. They put drugs in their drinks to control us.
Yeah?
If only Fox and Strabo were here. They were never gonna believe this.
Do you drink their coffee, Petey?
I used to.
That’s what screwed your brain up, says Mineo. Java withdrawal.
Let me handle this, says Widmark. All the bad stuff that’s happened to you is Starbucks’ fault, Petey. All part of their plot.
He’s stunned. It makes sense at a level logic never seemed to reach before.
That girl knew their plans, Petey. We asked her to help us but the bitch was gonna turn us in. It was self-defense, you see?
I guess so. Petey looks around again. They are deep in the dripping green heart of the trail now, and haven’t seen anyone for almost a block.
Good man. The shame of it is, she wouldn’t tell us what she knew. And she had the names and addresses of everyone in on the plot.
Widmark shakes his head sadly. Damn it, Petey. If we had those names we could catch them all. We could stop them!
I got their names! Petey reaches into his jacket and pulls out the black address book.
Bingo, says Mineo.
That’s all we need, says Widmark, grinning. Give it to Jerry.
Who?
Me, says Mineo, and grabs it. Do it now. This is perfect.
Petey looks back at Widmark, who has pulled a knife out of his jacket.
It’s time, Petey.
Wait a minute.
You can go quietly like a man, or squealing like a little girl. What do you choose?
What else’ve you got? asks Petey.
There’s no one in sight. This piece of the trail is blocked off from the canal by bushes and trees, and blocked from the street by—
What the hell is that?
Mineo looks and laughs. That’s a topiary dinosaur. A full-size brontosaurus made of plants. It’s gonna eat you up, Petey!
You buffoon, says Strabo. It’s an apatosaurus!
Where the hell have you been? asks Petey.
Who? asks Widmark, coming closer.
Run now! yells Fox.
Widmark swings and Petey raises his left arm. The knife cuts through his jacket, slices into his forearm. It hurts like hell.
Grab him! shouts Widmark, but Mineo sees the blood and hesitates.
Swing the fruit! yells Fox, and Petey grabs one of Mineo’s skinny arms with both bloody hands and spins like a discus thrower. The movie stars collide and tumble to the pavement. The knife and address book go flying.
Run, boy!
Petey runs. He used to jog this trail, back when he lived in a funky apartment on Bowdoin, back before his mind betrayed him, when he had a job and a life.
You still got a life, says Fox, but not if they catch you. Step on it!
You need a bandage, lad. Use your coat.
Petey tears off his jacket and wraps it around his bleeding arm. That helps. He’s still on the trail, which heads down and finally under the bridge.
We need crowds, says Fox. Go left!
Petey turns up Evanston Avenue. The movie stars had stopped for the knife and the book, but he can hear them on his track now.
On the hunt, says Strabo, and sings again.
Oh how will you cut him, said Milder to Moulder
Oh we may not tell you, said Festel to Fose
With knives and with forks, said John the Red Nose
With knives and with forks, said everyone…
The movie stars are gasping. They haven’t run this hill route a thousand times like he has, before the world went to hell.
Petey’s laughing, because this is really happening. There was a goddamned dinosaur made of plants. There really is a giant rocket on top of that building on the corner.
I’m not insane. I’m just in goddamned Fremont.
He dodges a bus on 36th Street and staggers to a halt.
Keep going! yells Fox. What’s wrong with you?
A man stands in front of him, twenty feet tall. The familiar face scowls down from under his cap.
He’s crazy, says Lenin. That’s what’s wrong with him.
Petey can’t move, caught in the big man’s glare.
It’s just freaking Lenin! screams Fox. The statue they brought from Russia! You’ve seen it a thousand times!
Now hold on, says Strabo. It doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would anyone put up a monument to a dead Communist in the middle of this merchant kingdom? No, I’d say the lad is delusional.
Out of his capitalist mind, says Lenin, and somebody hits Petey from behind. He slams into the base of the statue and bangs his head.
He rolls over on the plaza tiles and Widmark lands on top of him. Petey sees the knife going up but his left hand is tangled in his jacket. He can’t stop the blade.
Freeze!
Widmark stops, looks up. He slides off and drops the knife.
Thank god you’re here, officer! This man just confessed to murder.
Get away from him, says the cop, who looks a little like Matt Damon.
It’s true, says Mineo. He told us he killed a woman near the bridge last night.
Damon’s eyes widen. He’s heard about the dead woman.
Is that true?
I didn’t kill anybody, says Petey. They did it. You saw them attack me.
We took the knife away from him, says Widmark.
Ask him why she died, says Mineo.
The cop is frowning, not sure where to point the gun. Why’d she die, sir?
Be silent, boy, says Strabo, but Petey can’t help himself.
She was a spy. For Starbucks.
See? says Mineo.
Petey shakes his head, trying to clear it. They attacked me by the dinosaurs. Then I came up here, past the rocket, and saw Lenin.
Damon nods. You were attacked by a dinosaur and came here by rocket. Was that after you killed the woman?
Dear, dear, says Strabo. The constable’s not from around here.
Damon has his handcuffs in one hand, gun in the other. Put your hands on your… What happened to your arm?
He’s afraid you’ll get his cuffs bloody. Har har.
Your honor, says Strabo, my client pleads not guilty by season of inanity.
Petey falls back on the tiles. He’s crying.
You’re under arrest, says Lenin.
The detective is Bill Cosby, except his hair is gray and he has a thin mustache. He is scowling and Petey figures it is because he’s only a TV star and the movie stars outrank him.
Mr. Gottesman, he says, you say you saw those two men following Ms. Mantello, but you didn’t do anything about it.
I was scared. Did you see him in Night and the City?
Who?
Petey explains about Richard Widmark. Cosby frowns more. Mr. Gottesman, where do you think you are right now?
Petey looks around. I’m sitting at a patio table in a Mexican-style plaza in the middle of Seattle. Dozens of tourists are watching me. I’m handcuffed to an umbrella, staring at Lenin’s giant butt, while a medic patches up my arm and a cop interrogates me. How much of that is real?
Cosby shrugs. All of it.
Petey repeats something Fox had said before disappearing again. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean there aren’t two men chasing you with a knife.
The detective thinks that one over. He looks at the movie stars standing on the other side of the plaza by the taco shop, talking to Matt Damon.
You said Ms. Mantello was a spy for a coffee company.
They told me that.
Cosby sighs.
Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re still under arrest. We’re gonna take you to the hospital to get that arm looked at. Then I think a judge will order an examination—
No hospitals, says Fox. They wipe your freaking memory there. You know that.
Think, Petey, says Strabo. Make him see the truth and the truth will set us free!
Listen, Bill, says Petey, I followed that woman because she looked like Abby, my ex-wife. I didn’t go near those guys because they scared me. But I didn’t kill her, and when it happened I couldn’t get near them because of the drawbridge.
The drawbridge? She came from Queen Anne?
We all did. But the drawbridge went up—
You didn’t mention that.
Nobody asked, says Petey.
I’m asking now. Tell me the whole route.
Petey does. Cosby nods and stands up.
He calls for Officer Bestock and Damon hurries over.
There’s a bank on Nickerson Avenue and they’ve got a security camera out front. Tell ’em we need the tapes from last night. He looks at the movie stars and raises his voice. If that woman was over there, we’ll know. And if someone was following her, we’ll see who it was.
Mineo starts to cry. Widmark tells him to shut up, but it’s too late.
Cosby turns to Petey. How’d you know my name is Bill?
It’s in the credits.
Petey tells them he has no insurance, which usually saves him from medical care, but this time they insist he’s going to the hospital.
Cause you’re a hero, says Fox.
Indeed, says Strabo. A veritable Hercules or Adonis.
The paramedics strap him on a gurney and are ready to wheel him into the ambulance when another cop comes up, one who doesn’t look like anybody.
Jesus, Petey, is that you?
You know him? asks Cosby.
Yeah. I do security shifts at the clinic downtown. He used to be a regular. Remember me, Petey? Officer Lazenby.
He shakes his head.
You went off your meds, didn’t you, pal?
Had to. My friends didn’t like them.
What friends?
Fox and Strabo.
They aren’t your friends, pal. They’re just voices in your head. You don’t have any friends.
Thanks a lot.
I didn’t mean it like that, says Lazenby. Oh, Jesus.
Should we notify anybody? asks the ambulance guy.
About what?
Tell ’em you’ll be in the hospital.
No. There’s nobody.
What about your ex-wife? asks Cosby.
Ex-wife, Lazenby repeats.
He said her name was Abby.
Jesus. Lazenby shakes his head. Abby wasn’t his wife. She was just a nice barista who used to sneak free coffee to the homeless people. When she quit and moved away, Petey went on a one-man WTO against Starbucks. He got locked up for a while for throwing rocks through their windows. Didn’t you, pal?
They took her away from me.
Lazenby pats his arm, the one that isn’t cut. It’s gonna be okay, pal. The drugs keep improving. You just listen to the docs and pretty soon you’ll be back in the real world.
What else’ve you got? asks Petey.