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Shit.
Stan.
“Oh, hey, look, man, I’m kind of busy right now—”
I hit the dashboard.
“What was that?”
“Just, uh, just putting away some bad guys. You know how it is.”
I hit it a few more times, which sounded like . . . I was hitting the dashboard. Stan seemed to think so, too. “So hit ’em in this direction and bring back my truck. You know it’s three days overdue, right?”
“Sure. Absolutely. Was just going to do that. Uh, look, is there some kind of weekly special?”
“Yeah. Bring my truck back before the week’s out and Roberto’s boys don’t break your legs.”
Pissant little son of a—
“You know I’m a senator!” I said, to no one, because he’d already hung up.
I switched back to James.
Or so I thought.
“You are not invited!”
“Marlowe?”
“Do you understand me?” The voice was livid.
What else was new?
“Invited to what?”
“None of your business! Go away!”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen. This is an important night for me—for all of us. I am not going to have you ruin it!”
“I’m not trying to—”
“You never try, but it always happens! You went to the theatre and now there’s no theatre!”
I started to say that wasn’t my fault, but . . . it was a little my fault. “I’m not trying to crash your damned party! I just need to tell you—”
“If I see one glimpse or get so much as a single whiff—”
“Like you know what I smell like!” I was trying to keep my temper—I really was—but Marlowe was like nails on a chalkboard. “And it’s Mircea’s apartment. I’ll come any time I damned well—”
“You’ll be escorted off the property! In pieces!”
I actually laughed at that one. “By you and whose army?”
“I don’t need an army.” He somehow managed to hiss it, despite it not having any s’s. “I’m warning you—stay away!”
He hung up.
