Page 5 of Slow Burn

“Like the robot?”

“You could say so.” The woman found another napkin and wiped her fingers again—small hands, stubby fingers, smooth French-manicured nails.

Velvet waved her arms bonelessly in the air and shouted, “Danger! Danger, Will Robinshon!” and giggled when the other woman flinched.

“Quiet!” Robby-the-robot hissed, and leaned forward. She looked as if she might have wanted to slap her, but there weren’t any more napkins on the table for her to wipe her fingers on. “Listen, you, you make trouble and they won’t serve you any more drinks, is that what you want?”

“You’re just worried ’cause of the money in your pockets.”

Myra drifted over like a corpse in a current, gave them each fish-eyed stares, and poised a chewed pencil with no eraser over her pad. She blew a pale pink bubble, inhaled it, and pointed her pencil at Robby.

“You,” Myra said. It sounded like she was identifying her at a lineup.

“I’m buying for my friend here—give her two vodka doubles, and keep ’em coming.”

The pencil swiveled like a machine-gun turret, and Velvet almost crossed her eyes staring at the empty metal socket where the eraser had once been.

“No banana daiquiri?”

“Vodka,” Velvet nodded. Myra rolled her eyes and wandered away again. The pencil ended up in her mouth, and Velvet wondered if the eraser had been mistaken for gum.

“Look—you—” Robby said. Velvet broke her pretzel into tiny pretzel particles and mashed them with numb fingertips.

“I have a name, y’know. Velvet.” It sounded so good she said it a couple more times. “Velvet. Vel-vet.”

“Look, Velvet, why don’t I just leave you a twenty to get you going, and you can drink all you—”

“No! No, don’t leave, don’t—” Velvet felt tears start up again, and she grabbed at Robby’s hand, pinning her down. “I just—shit. Shit. Goddamn shit.”

Robby blinked. “Excuse me?”

Time did an alcoholic stretch, and suddenly Myra was back, delivering two glasses thick with something that looked like water; Velvet tipped one back fast. Not water. It burned the sticky spiderwebs out of the back of her throat.

“Don’t go,” she said again. Her head felt thick and light, like styrofoam. “Hey, don’t go. Don’t.”

Robby came up with a dry twenty-dollar bill and passed it to Myra, who popped her gum and swished away toward two guys in gray suits who had the IRS kicked-dog-turned-killer look. They were looking; hell, everybody was staring, every goddamn body.

“What the hell do youwant?”Robby snapped. “I bought your damned drinks.”

Velvet inhaled the second glass of vodka and rubbed her numb cheeks; they felt slick and wet.

“Gotta tell you—he—see—there was this—Burt—and—goddamn—goddamn—shit goddamn you gotta—see I tried to help him, I tried butwhooshlike a goddamn—goddamnmatch—burned.Burned.”

She made helpless circles with her hands, big whooshing motions.

She stopped because she realized Robby was staring at her. Staringrightat her, no more little holier-than-you quickies. Her eyes were wide and dark.

“What did you say?” Robby asked. Velvet swallowed and tried to look her in the eye.

“Burned. He burned.” She added a flap of her hands. “Whoosh. Oopsh. Shorry.”

“You were there, and this man burned? Caught on fire?”

Velvet nodded dumbly, happy that she’d gotten the attention, just plain happy. She’dsaidit. She’d gotten it out, and now it was okay.

“’Nother drink?” she asked, shaking her glass at Robby. Robby kept staring, a closed expression on the square face, the cool eyes.

“Did he die?” she asked quietly. Velvet lost her grip on the glass, and it tumbled to the table and skittered nervously in circles.

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