“After that it was sold for scrap.”

“I suppose you feel involved in this case, Marîd, but you’re not. Finding that James Bond maniac is a police matter.”

“Yeah, I know.” I made a face; my mouth tasted like boiled fur.

“I’ll keep you posted,” said Okking. “Maybe I’ll have some work for you.”

“If I run into that moddy first, I’ll wrap him up and drop him by your office.”

“Sure, kid.” Then there was a sharp click as Okking banged his phone down.

We’re all one big, happy family. “Yeah, you right,” I muttered to myself. I laid my head down on the pillow, but I knew I wasn’t going back to sleep. I just stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, hoping that I’d get through another week without it falling on me.

“Who was that? Okking?” murmured Yasmin. She was still turned away from me, curled up with her hands between her knees.

“Uh huh. You go back to sleep.” She already was back to sleep. I scratched my head for a little while, hoping the tri-phets would hit before I gave in and got sick. I rolled off the mattress and stood up, feeling a pounding in my temples that hadn’t been there a moment ago. After the friendly shakedown by Okking last night, I’d gone up the Street, knocking back drinks in one club after another. Somewhere along the line I must have run into Yasmin, because here she was. The proof was indisputable.

I dragged myself to the bathroom and stood under the shower until I ran out of hot water. The drugs still hadn’t come on. I toweled myself mostly dry, debating whether to take another blue triangle or just blow off the whole day and go back to bed. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked awful, but I always look awful in the mirror. I keep myself going with the firm belief that my real face is much better looking. I brushed my teeth and that took care of the terrible taste in my mouth. I started to brush my hair, but it seemed like too much effort, so I went back out into the other room and pulled on a clean shirt and my jeans.