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These memories are scorching. They get worse when I drink. But it’s only when I get drunk and occasionally fall into a deep drunk sleep that they mellow down.
I need more booze.
My eyes flutter closed again, and I try to think of something nice. But there are no nice memories in my life. Not anymore. Not in the longest while.
Some time goes by, and I make another drink.
Then another.
Everything gets a bit blurry. “Corlo, play Santana.”
The music starts playing just at the right sound level.
Good.
At least robots pay attention to me.
My head is a pack of flies.
The phone rings.
Fuck it.
It goes quiet and starts ringing again.
It’s almost midnight. Who the fuck wants to die right now?
Marlow.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, feeling dizzy. I need food.
“It’s Marlow.”
No shit.
“Droga wants to have a talk.”
I feel so out of it that I don’t quite register the name.
Right now?
“I am not up to it.” I’m too drunk for this.
“He insists,” Marlow says, then adds, “We are outside your front door.”
27
CALLIE
We are standingat Archer’s door.
“Archer doesn’t answer,” Marlow says, cutting the phone call.
Just the sound of that name makes me want to snarl. When I see Archer’s face, I’ll have to keep quiet, because otherwise, I’ll bring up every dirty thing from his past, including his family. All is fair in war, right?
“Try again,” Kai demands.
Marlow didn’t want to bring us here. Nor did we expect Katura to tag along.
