Back Eight Million Ways to Die
Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Epigraph
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Chapter 23
  29. Chapter 24
  30. Chapter 25
  31. Chapter 26
  32. Chapter 27
  33. Chapter 28
  34. Chapter 29
  35. Chapter 30
  36. Chapter 31
  37. Chapter 32
  38. Chapter 33
  39. Chapter 34
  40. About the Author
  41. Books By Lawrence Block
  42. Enter the World of Matthew Scudder
  43. Praise
  44. Copyright
  45. About the Publisher

“They think they’re friends of mine,” she explained. “They think I’m this spacey Village chick, which I am, and that they’re my friends, which they are. I mean, they come here to get laid, let’s face it, but they could get laid quicker and easier in a massage parlor, no muss no fuss no bother, dig? But they can come up here and take off their shoes and smoke a joint, and it’s a sort of a raunchy Village pad, I mean you have to climb three flights of stairs and then you roll around in a waterbed. I mean, I’m not a hooker. I’m a girlfriend. I don’t get paid. They give me money because I got rent to pay and, you know, I’m a poor little Village chick who wants to make it as an actress and she’s never going to. Which I’m not, and I don’t care much, but I still take dancing lessons a couple mornings a week and I have an acting class with Ed Kovens every Thursday night, and I was in a showcase last May for three weekends in Tribeca. We did Ibsen, When We Dead Awake, and do you believe that three of my johns came?”

She chatted about the play, then began telling me how her clients brought her presents in addition to the money they gave her. “I never have to buy any booze. In fact I have it to give away because I don’t drink myself. And I haven’t bought any grass in ages. You know who gets the best grass? Wall Street guys. They’ll buy an ounce and we’ll smoke a little and they’ll leave me the ounce.” She batted her long lashes at me. “I kind of like to smoke,” she said.

“I guessed that.”

“Why? Do I seem stoned?”

“The smell.”

“Oh, right. I don’t smell it because I’m here, but when I go out and then I come back in, whew! It’s like a friend of mine has four cats and she swears they don’t smell, but the smell could knock you down. It’s just that she’s used to it.” She shifted in her seat. “Do you ever smoke, Matt?”

“No.”

“You don’t drink and you don’t smoke, that’s terrific. Can I get you another diet soda?”

“No thanks.”

“Are you sure? Look, would it bother you if I smoked a quick joint? Just to unwind a little.”

“Go ahead.”

“Because I’ve got this fellow coming over and it’ll help me be in the mood.”