Page 110 of I Am the Messenger

"No." I mock her a little. "I don't."

"I was with Simon at my place and we...for a few hours."

"A few hours." I'm hurt but keep it out of my voice. "How'd you manage the strength to get over here?"

"I don't know," she admits. "He went home and I felt empty."

So you came here, I think, but I'm not bitter. Not at this moment. I rationalize that none of the physical things matter so much. Audrey needs me now, and for old times' sake, that's good enough.

She wakes me a bit later. We're still on the couch. A small crowd of bottles is assembled on the table. They sit there like onlookers. Like observers at an accident.

Audrey looks me hard in the face, wavers, then hands me a question.

"Do you hate me, Ed?"

Still stupid with bubbles and vodka in my stomach, I answer. Very seriously.

"Yes," I whisper. "I do."

We both smack the sudden silence with laughter. When it returns, we hit it again. The laughter spins in front of us and we keep hitting it.

When it calms completely, Audrey whispers, "I don't blame you."

The next time I'm woken, it's by a cracking at the door.

I stammer there, open it, and there in front of me is the guy who jumped my cab. That feels like an eternity ago.

He looks annoyed.

As usual.

He holds his hand up for me to be quiet and says, "Just"--he waits, for effect--"shut up and listen." He actually sounds a touch more than annoyed as he continues. "Look, Ed." The yellow-rimmed eyes scratch me. "It's three in the morning. It's still humid as hell, and here we are."

"Yes," I agree. A cloud of drunkenness hangs over me. I almost expect rain. "Here we are."

"Now don't you mock me, boy."

I reel back. "I'm sorry. What is it?"

He pauses, and the air sounds violent between us. He speaks.

"Tomorrow. Eight p.m. sharp. Melusso's." He walks away before remembering something. "And do me a favor, will you?"

"Of course."

"Cut down on the chips, for Christ's sake. You're making me sick." Now he points at me, threatening. "And hurry up with all this shit. You might think I don't have better things to do, but as it happens, I do, all right?"

"All right. It's only fair." In my stupor, I try for something extra. I call out, "Who's sending you?"

The young man with the gold-rimmed eyes, black suit of clothes, and brutal disposition returns up the porch steps. He says, "How the hell would I know, Kennedy?" He even laughs and shakes his head. "You might not be the only one getting aces in the mail. Did you ever think of that?"

He lingers a little longer, turns, and trudges off, dissolving into the darkness. Blending in.

Audrey's behind me at the door now, and I've got something to think about.

I write down what he told me about Melusso's.

Eight p.m. tomorrow night. I have to be there.