He looks at me suspiciously for a few seconds, then holds up the bottle to inspect it for pickled vermin.
“I’ll think about it,” he says.
“That’s sipping whiskey, not the plastic-bottle generic stuff you buy.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell me how to drink.”
I give him back his cigarettes.
“What are these?” he says.
“Your cigarettes.”
“You never give back cigarettes.”
“Don’t take it personally. My brain probably isn’t getting enough oxygen.”
He puts the cigarettes in his pocket.
I look at Brigitte studying the book with Ray.
“You never told me if Brigitte’s show is any good.”
“It’s real good,” says Kasabian. “Stylish, you know? All neon and hot guns and shiny skirts.”
“And she’s good in it?”
“They’re talking about making it into a movie, so you tell me.”
“That’s good to hear.”
I put out my hand to him.
“See you around.”
After a second’s hesitation, he shakes the hand.
“You leaving?” he says.
“I’ve got a couple of things to do.”
He looks away and nods.
“You know all that stuff I said about things being better without you?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, they’re true. But that doesn’t mean I want you to croak or anything.”
“Good to know.”
“Okay,” he says. “Later.”
“Later.”
I check the room for a good shadow. There’s one in a corner where the wall separates the living room from the kitchen.
“Hey, Stark.”