By the time I got showered and dressed it was almost six-thirty and dark. There was a hot, dry breeze blowing through the house. Within seconds of getting out of the shower my skin dried up and scabs were falling off me like dead flies. I’d had a run-in with a gang of fiends a few days before. Those fucks have some nasty unkempt fingernails and they scratched the crap out of me. I beat their skulls in with a hammer.

To help get the blood flowing, I swigged down some coffee spiked with whiskey and a Vicodin chaser to achieve the proper balance for the night. Unfortunately the only bottle I thought I had was as empty as my wallet. I had to down the pill dry.

The phone rang as I began gathering all my empties—empty liquor bottles—until I had about twenty or thirty. I was interrupted, of course.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.” The voice sounded like dry bones. Fucking ghoul.

“Mo’Lock, what the hell are you doing? Where are you?”

He took a deep, slow breath. “I am right outside,” he groaned, “I just walked from Ventura Boulevard. There is an interesting street fair happening and—”

“Quit fucking around. Get your dead butt in here,” I spat, and slammed the receiver down.

While I waited for the ghoul I began turning the bottles upside down in glasses around my office/house. Well, technically it was my old friend Sam Burnett’s house, but since the whole losing his head incident, he left it to me and left the country. I think getting duped by a teenage burnout really took it out of the old guy.

The bottom of a dirty glass filled drop by drop with alcohol, but I’d get a fucking shot one way or another. Just as I turned over about the fifteenth or so, Mo’Lock came lumbering in, looking pale and disoriented, which was fine ’cause that’s how he always looks. He’s a ghoul after all. They’re not known for their color or grace. Lumbering’s about as good as it gets.

“Hey,” I said, continuing to turn the bottles.

“Hello,” said Mo’lock, and he crossed the room to the window behind my desk. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get a drink,” I said. “Where you been? Ain’t seen you in weeks.”

He looked out the window and said, “I fell asleep.”

I nodded, telling myself not to ask. I’d only get more confused. Ghouls sleep? You learn something new every fucking day, I guess.

Finally I got to the last bottle and I was pleased to see I had more than a shot. I took the glass and kicked bottles aside as I went to my desk.

Mo’Lock turned his head. “Any cases?”

“Zero, zilch, not a one.”

“Broke?”

“Completely.” I sipped my whiskey. Ahhh.