The nurse glances my way, shoots her eyes toward the door.

I look at Evie’s feet, sticking from beneath the sheet.

– I’ll come by tomorrow.

She has her hands over her face.

– God, I want to be alone. Please let me be alone. Leave me alone. Don’t ask me for anything. I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to think about anyone else anymore. I’m no good at it. Leave me alone, Joe. Let me die alone. Go away. Go away.

The nurse faces me, places a hand on my arm, points at the door.

I think about taking her head between my hands and twisting her neck and spitting in her face as I kill her.

The old lady peeks from behind her magazine as I leave, shaking her head.

On the street I fire up a Lucky and look at the people walking around: on their way home after a late workday, on their way back out because it’s Friday night, whatever. Normal stuff. Stuff Evie can’t do these days.

I think about killing them all.

It wouldn’t change things, not for my girl up there on the HIV ward of Beth Israel. But it would make me feel better. A dead body for every blood-corrupting cell invader in her would just about even things out with the world as far as I’m concerned.

A sense of proportion not being something I have much of a grip on.

A Harley grumbles up to the curb and the leather-coated rider touches the brim of his top hat.

– Joe.

I watch a guy walk past with his girl on his arm, both of them giggling at some stupid shit they think is cute. I skip asking what’s so fucking funny and go talk to Christian instead.

– What’s up?

He pulls the aviator goggles from his eyes and lets them hang from his neck.

– Something needs looking at below Houston.

– Off my beat.

Christian takes one of the smokes I offer him. I pop open my Zippo and hold out the flame.

– Not for long, I hear.