After the shock wave of betrayal wears off, then comes the anger, babe. Lisa wanted to get even, that’s all. I wouldn’t make too much of it. And listen: You weren’t keeping the web under control, it’s your own fault.

Hey! What’s the deal anyhow—are guys suddenly into hitting on chicks that are six months pregnant? Maybe I just don’t know the score anymore. Even an experienced evildoer such as myself has blind spots and makes mistakes. She’ll come crawling back. Don’t you worry, baby.

Johnny Ringo

P.S. I just finished a motherfucker of a rewrite job. It was a suck-ass from start to finish. The producer is always saying “Breathe some life into this piece of shit.” I’m not kidding; this is the most nonglamorous profession in the world. I want to get back on the novel.

to: CC14

re: Encouragement

date sent: October 19, 1999

Thanks, babe. It was nice to hear from you. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me anymore. I can’t focus on a single thing. My skull feels like it’s got rancid malted milk balls rolling around inside it. I put my .337 in the attic, in case I get the impulse to shoot myself. It takes so long to get into the attic, I’ll think better of it before I get to the pistol. Suicide really isn’t me in spite of the family history. Maybe that’s because I’m just a big chickenshit. Maybe it is the ultimate act of nobility. Yes, given a moment to reflect—a breather from the onslaught of life’s travail—and I’m a philosophical individual.

Used and confused,

Algonquin J. Calhoun

to: CC14

re: Lisa

date sent: November 1, 1999