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I lean to the side to let street light fall into the trunk. A small brown bottle glitters in the middle of all the garbage in the trunk. I pocket the bottle and wire the trunk closed again. Vincent follows me back out to the street. I collapse the na’at and put it in my coat.
“What is it?” he says.
“A bottle. There’s a note attached.”
Paper dangles from a red ribbon around the bottle’s neck. In florid script, the note says Drink me. I hold it up to the light to make sure I’m reading it right.
“They think I’m goddamn Alice in Wonderland.”
“Who?” says Vincent.
“Them. Whoever runs Piss Alley. The bottle wants me to drink it.”
“Is that all?”
I turn the paper over. There’s more writing on the back.
Sidestep for one week.
Vincent moves around, trying to stay clear of rats and bugs.
“What does it say?”
“It wants to me to dance a jig. Or something. I don’t know what the hell this is.”
“Drink it and find out.”
I look at him.
“You know how to drive?”
“No,” he says.
“Too bad. If this kills me, you’re shit out of luck. Cabs don’t come here.”
&nbs
p; “Then good luck.”
I hold the bottle up to the light. There’s nothing special about it.
“Fuck it.”
I take out the cork and upend the bottle, swallowing the slimy stuff in one go.
It doesn’t really taste that bad. Sort of like cherry cough syrup with a whiskey bite. I put the bottle back in my pocket and wait. Nothing happens. A minute later, nothing is still happening.
“Did you do it wrong?” says Vincent.
“It said ‘drink me.’ How can you fuck that up? Maybe the stuff went bad sitting in the trunk. I should have come earlier.”
“Maybe you should have,” says a man holding a gun to Vincent’s head.
I was so wrapped up in my Alice in Wonderland bottle that I didn’t hear the crackhead creeping up on us. I’m going to be very embarrassed if I get shot because I was waiting for the Queen of Hearts’ tarts.
“Don’t look at me,” says the creep.
Vincent’s eyes are wide.
