‘I’m kidding, Dan. It’s my crazy sense of humour. That’s why you love me.’ Her face is glowing. She looks young. ‘Remember that time you fixed my window? That was when I knew.’

I am not qualified to deal with this. Why does everyone I meet seem to have mental problems?

Ah . . . but did they have mental problems before meeting you? Who’s the common denominator here, Dan?

I do not have mental problems! I say to the voice in my head, perfectly aware how damning it would sound were I to say it aloud.

Deacon’s pulse is steady, but she’s got a glowing bump on her noggin which I doubt will improve her mood any, and she was pissed enough before Lasagne Lady popped her on the skull.

Deacon moans and mumbles something that sounds like:

Hill view utter trucker.

But which is probably:

Kill you, motherfucker.

And with this in mind I pocket her gun. At least this way, she will have to bludgeon me to death with her fists.

I cannot honestly say that I am protecting either of these women; so much for my psychosis. It pains me, it really does, but I have to protect myself in this situation, and sort out the women from afar. Opting to stay here and nurse Deacon would surely result in hosepipes, frame-ups and jail time. Not necessarily in that order.

I pull on my clothes and mentally cobble together a story for my new girlfriend.

‘Are you speaking to me, baby?’

‘No . . . I don’t . . . Was I?’

Mrs Delano is concerned. ‘Well you were kind of mumbling, and looked like you were playing an invisible piano too. Everything okay?’

Two of my stress tells: thinking aloud and conducting. Simon Moriarty pointed those out to me. I really have to call that guy.

‘Just thinking. You need to be safe, Mrs Delano.’

She walks her fingers up my chest. ‘What are we? Strangers. Sofia, please.’

I clear my throat. ‘It’s dangerous for you here . . . Sofia.’

Delano puts her cheek against my heart. ‘Remember when you first called me Sofia, baby? That night in Coney Island. I’ll never forget it, Carmine.’

Carmine? Now I’m somebody else. Is that an improvement, I wonder?

Mrs Delano’s make-up leaves a face print on my chest when I peel her off.

‘You need to go upstairs now, Sofia. Go up and wait for my call.’ I flash on the rows of pill bottles in the upstairs kitchen. ‘Do you have any medication you should be taking?’

Sofia Delano frowns. ‘No more pills, Carmine. They make me stupid.’

‘How about one? Just one to help you relax until I call?’

‘Maybe just one for you, baby.’

‘Good. Good . . . baby. You promise?’

‘Sure.’

‘Say it. Promise me.’

Delano pouts and suddenly ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ starts playing in my mind-pod.

‘I promise. Happy now?’

‘Yeah. Happy now.’