“How’s Chad doing?”

“What if I want to talk about that instead of him? Manipulating Bunny. What if that’s what’s floating my boat today?”

“Talk about whatever you want until Chad’s up.”

“Ooh,” she crooned. “Tough guy. So tell me, did Sturgis appreciate my ahem ahem anonymous tip?” A phony throat clear led to coughing, then to the real thing, then a series of nasty-sounding barks topped by a paroxysm that doubled her over.

When she finally was able to breathe smoothly, she wagged a finger. “Poor cancer patient nearly asphyxiates and you just stand there?”

“Last I heard you weren’t a cripple.”

“Oh, man, you are—you must be hell in a relationship. Got a wife?”

“How’s Chad doing?”

“Shine me on? Sure, why the hell not, I’ll be dead and you’ll be watching Jeopardy! or whatever you brainy types like.”

I waited.

She said, “Chad’s fine. Did you tell Sturgis the tip came from me?”

“Has Chad—”

“Blah-blah, blah-blah, blah-blah.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. Pressing down, but diminished strength made it feel like a butterfly alighting between nectar gulps. “First the website, then Stefan. So what do you think, should I give him even more?”

“Up to you.”

“Like you don’t give a shit.”

“Let’s talk about Chad.”

The hand on my shoulder clawed. Oversized, predatory moth digging in for takeoff. “Tell Sturgis little Ms. Mystery was no mystery back when she was turning tricks. Tell him she used to be just plain Tiara from the trailer park, had no clue how to dress, how to talk, how to walk. How to give a decent blow job. Tell him to feel free to call me for more and guess what? If he does, I’ll say fuck off, fatso. Because I’m not dancing to that rude fag’s beat. He could’ve treated me like a human being, instead he treated me like shit.”

The hand took flight. She stabbed air. “Lady G does not forget.”

I scoured my memory for something I’d missed about the meeting between her and Milo. Nothing.

People with personality disorders bruise easily.

For all the comic flaunting, it really was about her her her.

Tough way to live but I couldn’t help wondering if it might be a good way to die.

Defying the mortality odds because she was fueled by rage and high-octane egotism.

I said, “When you’re ready, we’ll talk about Chad.”

Her teeth drew back in a brown, fetid snarl. “You’re starting to really piss me off.”

She moved forward quickly. Kissed me hard, on the lips. Bruising me with the oxygen tube. Assaulting my nose with the reek of disease.

Pulling away, she took my arm and sang out, “Let’s have a nice civilized chat, God knows we could both use one.”