We ended up in a little cafe called the Connecticut Yankee. The place was run by an old lady named Joan and her twenty-five-year-old son, Billy. Joan was a nightmare. Every time her son would stop and talk to us for more than a second, she’d be all over his ass. Billy looked a little embarrassed but he kept on smiling and didn’t speak back. I felt bad and considered offering him a bone but I didn’t want to piss Jane off.

“Since when has my getting gooed bothered you so much?” I asked.

“Since you started doing it all the time. Can’t you go one day without smoking pot?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever done acid before?” she asked.

“Once I tripped with my friend Drugs Delaney but I lost him and ended up having a five-hour conversation with an air conditioner.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Oh, this and that. The air conditioner was doing most of the talking.”

The next day I received a letter from Drugs. This one got to me easily, seeing as how my name was written on the envelope at least ten times accompanied by assorted threats and hexes on any unauthorized readers.

Greetings Dunph—

What’s happening? I hope you get this before the head dick because if you don’t, expect a grand jury because we’ll be fucked.

Sit down before you read any more standing.

Are you sitting? Okay man, you’re not going to believe this. You know what DeCenzo did? He killed Mousy. I shit you not. He confessed to me the other night that he did it. He said that you guys figured that Mousy is better off dead than working in New Jersey so he took the lugnuts off Mousy’s car and the tire come off and Mousy hit the pole and he got wasted. He said he done it because Mousy would’ve wanted him to do it. He did it when Mousy was parking with Bunny Cote except he didn’t know she was in the car because she was going down on Mousy. That’s why DeCenzo is been taking Bunny out now. Not just because she blows, I mean, but because he feels like shit about almost killing her too. Can you believe it man? Holy fucking shit! I been feeling wacked out like a bastard. DeCenzo says you woulda of done it if he didn’t of did it. That ain’t true, right?

Don’t tell a word of this to DeCenzo because I told him on my mother’s soul I wouldn’t tell you till he did.

Drugs

P.S.—Destruct this letter and pretend I never told you nothing.

Waltham came running into the room sweating and out of breath.