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“That’s what I’m going to call my new clothing line.”

“Carnivorous clothes for carnivorous girls.”

She stops plucking and kisses me on the cheek.

“I’m stealing that. It’ll make a good song title for me and Alessa.”

“My pain is your a

rt. Good thing I like you so much.”

“Yes it is, smart guy.”

Fortified with a cup of coffee spiked with Aqua Regia, we go outside to survey the damage.

“Good move parking it right in front of the store so every cop in L.A. can find it,” says Kasabian.

“Give me a break. I’d just been set on fire.”

“Wait till some prick cuts your head off. Then you can tell me about your bad day.”

“Play nice, boys,” says Candy.

She walks around the car.

“Honestly, I’ve seen worse.”

“Not outside a junkyard,” says Kasabian.

“No, really. All it needs is a little Bondo and paint.”

“It needs a last cigarette and a bullet in the head.”

I look at Kasabian, wanting to say something, but I don’t because I know he’s right.

The top of the hood is partially caved in where the angel smashed it with her fists. The front bumper is bent into a V-shape, maybe by the angel’s boot, maybe by hitting the other cars. Both headlights are smashed and both front fenders are crumpled back on themselves. There’s a puddle under the engine where something is leaking. And the passenger-side mirror is missing. I’m amazed the damned thing held together long enough to drive home.

“I guess that angel was mad,” says Candy.

“She wasn’t happy to be there.”

“Can you get it fixed?”

“In theory. But how much is it going to cost? And how long will it take? I need wheels these days.”

“You need a babysitter and a Valium,” says Kasabian.

I pull a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket and show it to Candy.

“Oh yeah. I got this too.”

“A ticket? You’re actually contemplating paying a ticket?” she says.

Kasabian shakes his head.

“What happened to you, man? When did you turn into such a pussy?”

I run a hand over the dented hood.