Fallout (Crank 3)

I haven’t had a spar-fest for a while.

This one could be fun, but Rick’s

done playing. Not sure who all’s

there. Excuse me. There’s Montana.

THERE, INDEED, IS MONTANA

In a bold, backless dress, sparkly

silver. And with her, all decked

out in a complementary gray

tux, is … “Brendan,” I whisper.

Nikki looks. Looks again.

Harder. Oh my God. You do

look like him. I can’t believe

it. Hey, you’re okay, right?

Okay enough to chug my drink.

“Yep. Fine and dandy. Except

I need a refill. You good for now?”

She’s barely touched her glass.

Good. I can only carry two

glasses, anyway. I order twin JDs.

Doubles. Tip the guy five bucks

so he doesn’t reconsider the ID.

When I turn around, I’m only

half-surprised to see who has

joined Nikki at our table. Poor

Nik looks positively green.

Goes well with her pretty red

Christmas dress. Ha. I crack

myself up. Too bad I’m spoiling

to be in a very unfunny mood.

BEFORE I CAN SIT DOWN