“Hey. Saw the hockey game. Hell of a game, ’cept for that guy melting the ice.” She was trying to be snide, but it all came out sad instead. She drained the last sip of whisky from her glass and poured out another splash from the bottle on the coffee table.

Robby slapped the glass out of her hand. Velvet watched it spin off through the air, pinwheeling Scotch. She licked the drops off her fingers.

“Hey,” she said. “Hey, I was drinkin’ that.”

Robby pulled her to her feet, or tried to; Velvet couldn’t seem to stand up. Robby finally let her drop back to the couch. Velvet tried to focus both eyes on her, but it was way too much effort; she closed her right eye and focused her left. Something wrong with Robby’s face. Tears. Tears in her eyes, on her cheeks.

Velvet got the bottle and tried to hand it to her. “Have a drink.”

“No more, Velvet.” Na morrh. Robby’s Irish brogue had taken over, and so had her temper. She reached for Velvet’s shoulder and grabbed a handful of hair, too. Velvet batted feebly at her, making oww sounds. “You’ve got to stop lying to me, Velvet, you’ve got to, understand? We’re in trouble, both of us! Why did you do it? Why?”

Every time Robby got to the end of a question, Velvet got shaken. In between the shakes, the room spun around, a neon technicolor whirl like a kaleidoscope, only Velvet was one of the little glass beads tumbling around.

“Stop it!” she shouted, and slapped wildly, connected with skin. Robby pulled back. “Goddamn it, stop that!”

Robby slapped her back hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and numb the whole side of her face. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. In the next few seconds her bruises woke up yelling, and she put her hands over her face and doubled over, moaning.

Something smacked the floor next to her feet. She looked over the tips of her fingers and saw a newspaper. Her face looked ghostly and wasted, a beat-up hooker with dreamy-dead eyes. Her first thought was, God, he could’ve used a better mug shot than that.

Robby said, “They put Jim in the hospital looking for you. It’s just a matter of time before they find both of us, and God help us then.”

“J-Jim?” Velvet wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked up at Robby’s face. Robby had stopped crying, but the look in her eyes was just as bad. “Jim? Wh-what happened?”

“They broke his hands,” Robby whispered. “His hands.”

I’m sorry sounded so lame when she tried it that she covered up her mouth with Scotch-damp hands. Sorry. Sorry. Always so fucking sorry, sorry about Amy, sorry about life, sorry for poor little Velvet. She was sick of being sorry.