The last droplets of Tom’s piss splashed into the bowl and the toilet’s vacuum powerfully sucked the water away. He zipped and took a moment in front of the mirror, observing with detachment the harshly lit surfaces of his face. His lips were purplish from the wine, his eyes tired. Otherwise, not much to report. He splashed some water on his cheeks and dabbed them off on the towel.

Out in the hallway he spotted Diego and Lana at the head of the stairs leading to the basement den, engaged in a whispered negotiation of some kind. He averted his eyes, but couldn’t help notice Lana’s hand on Diego’s elbow, or the appetite etched on Diego’s face. Wordlessly, pretending Tom was not there, the two stumbled down the carpeted stairway into the gloom.

Tom drifted into the kitchen and piled a few dishes in the sink. Then, giving up, he wandered into the living room, which was empty save for Miles Davis. The lamp sent a balloon of light into the high corner, revealing a single strand of cobweb attached to the raw crossbeam.

The dining room was also empty, just the wreckage of the meal fastened to the tabletop. Tom could hear noise outside though, and opened the sliding glass door to find Conrad and Javier seated at the glass patio table, lit feebly by the living room window. It was getting chilly. They had located a deck of cards somewhere and Conrad was in the process of dealing a hand. Both of them were smoking new cigars pulled from Tom’s stash.

“You boys doing all right?” Tom said, dragging a metal chair to join them, the legs vibrating madly on the wood. “You need anything?”

“We are excellent,” Conrad said. He was scrutinizing his hand, rearranging the cards into a better order. “This is something we can both understand. Finally. We don’t need to talk for this shit. We play cards. We do math. This is plain luck against luck. We don’t need language for this. Am I right, Javier? Am I right?”

Javier, unaware he was being addressed, or not caring, grimaced at the hand he’d been dealt. A fuzz of mustache coated his wide upper lip, and the whites of his eyes stood out in the darkness. He licked his lips and fiddled with the cards. Conrad brushed a lock of blond hair from his forehead and returned to his hand.

“See? I’m right.”