Dexter's Final Cut (Dexter 7)

“Well,” I said. “As long as he’s here for lunch.”

“Oh, he won’t miss lunch,” Robert said. He snorted, adding, “He won’t pay for it, either.”

That was fine with me, as long as Robert paid for it. And I was just as happy not to have Renny there, since I still couldn’t decide what he was. So Robert and I spent the next ninety minutes going over gas chromatography, and then, just as advertised, Renny wandered in, wearing the same Metallica T-shirt, but a different pair of faded, low-slung madras shorts.

“Greetings,” he said, slouching to a stop with one side of his butt perched on the lab’s counter.

“Hey,” Robert said. “Aren’t you supposed to say ‘what up’ or something?”

Renny stared at Robert with his head tilted, one eyebrow raised and one lowered. “You gonna teach me how to talk black, Robert?” he said. “Damn, that’s great; I been wanting to learn that.”

r /> “Ha!” said Robert, a very artificial sound, even for him. “Okay. My bad. Hey! Take a look at this, Ren.” He held up the graph we had been looking at. “Gas chromography,” he said, pronouncing it carefully even though he was mangling it.

“Uh-huh,” Renny said. “You want to graph my gas, you’re going to be pretty busy.” He crossed his arms and looked very pleased with himself, which in my opinion was not justified by the feeble joke. But he stared at both of us with that smug expression anyway, until I was ready to fling a microscope at his head, and Robert finally said, “What’s up, Renny?”

Renny smiled broadly. “Just come from a production meeting,” he said. “For my special.”

“Your what?” Robert said. “When did you get a special?”

Renny looked at him and shook his head pityingly. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby, don’t you read anything but the Advocate?”

“Aw, come on, Ren.…”

“ ’Cause it was all over the trades, Bobby.”

“Um, not, you know,” Robert said. “I guess I didn’t see it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Renny said. “You don’t read it unless your name is in there.”

“Heh, heh, yeah, okay,” Robert said. “But when does it tape?”

“Saturday night,” Renny said, looking very pleased.

“Saturday—this Saturday night?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?” Robert said. He looked so very alarmed that I had to assume Special Taping was some kind of threat to him personally. “I mean, hey, that’s great, but I mean, you can’t leave, or—you have to be here for the show, right?”

Renny stared at him with a superior expression—not hard, since Robert was practically hyperventilating. “Bobby,” Renny said.

“It’s Robert,” Robert said automatically.

“Bobby, you been sniffing that fart analyzer too long. Don’t you know shit about showbiz?”

I had to give Renny very small props for extending his gas joke by turning gas chromatography into fart analysis, but Robert did not seem to notice. “I mean, sure, it’s great for you,” Robert said, rubbing his hands together unconsciously, “but we have to start shooting, and … does the network know about this?”

Renny showed him a large selection of gleaming teeth. “Yup,” he said. “Their idea.”

“What?!” Robert said.

Renny let him suffer for a second longer before saying, “My special is on Big Ticket Network.” He pointed at Robert, still smiling. “That’s the same network the show is on. Did you know that, Robby?”

Robert turned pale. “Shit,” he said. “They pulled the plug on us.”

Renny laughed. In spite of his near-constant joking, this was the first time I’d heard him do that, and I was very glad he had kept it to himself until now. It was a high-pitched laugh, but not terribly merry; the sound of it made me a little uneasy, and I felt a small sympathetic stirring from the Passenger.

But Renny laughed on for several seconds, clapping his hands to keep time, before he finally took pity on Robert. “Oh, Bobby. Oh, Bert. Man. It’s always about you, isn’t it?” He laughed louder, which truly set my nerves on edge. It didn’t seem to reassure Robert, either. “Oh, man. The actor’s life just plain sucks, doesn’t it? Got you all fucked up in the head.”