Fallout (Crank 3)

A SHARP WHINE

Slices through the buzz

in my ears. What? Who?

Oh, yeah. Leah. Right.

She’s looking at me like

I’ve missed something very

important. So is that okay?

Freight train slam. “Uh …

Sorry. What did you say?”

Repeat, then go away.

I said I want to give you

my number, she says, only

a lot annoyed at my inattention.

What I want is to track

down the bastard-maker.

“Um … I’m not sure …”

I know you probably won’t

ever use it. But just in case.

Or you can give me yours.

“No, no.” The last thing

I need is her calling me.

“Give me yours.” I fumble

around in my pocket, finally

fish out my cell phone. Try

to punch in the numbers

she recites. But my mind

is in a whole other place

and I miss one or three.

Here. Let me do it, okay?

She extricates the phone from