Page 51 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘I wasn’t, I swear!’

‘Tell anyone, and I’ll let your dad know about your freaky little porn collection.’

Owen whimpered.

Outside, Jet marched across the street to where they’d parked her truck, powder-blue paint gleaming in the morning sun, not out of place on Pleasant Street. But something was out of place: a plastic sleeve, stuck to her windshield.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ Jet said, ripping it off, holding it up so Billy could see. ‘A ticket? We were only here for like forty-five minutes. These new parking meters, I swear …’

But she didn’t have to swear, and she didn’t have to do anything. She’d be dead in five days, so this little ticket right here in her hands, it meant nothing. Not a thing. Jet pulled the paper out from the sleeve, ripped it in half – Billy’s mouth dropped – ripped it in half again – Billy’s mouth dropped farther, almost twitching into a smile.

Jet let go, the shredded pieces fluttering to the ground like fallen moths, sticking in the mud.

‘I’m not fucking paying that.’

12

‘Told you he’d be in here.’

Billy held the door for her, up the steps into Dr Mandrake’s Dive Bar. Jet always thought of it as Billy’s Bar instead, where he worked, his apartment right upstairs. Not that she ever came here.

Mahogany panels and striped navy walls, glass shelves full of bottles behind the wooden bar, an assortment of different lamps around the room, the stranger the better, lighting the darker corners. In the darkest one sat Andrew Smith, at a table, beer bottle in his cupped hands.

‘It’s only noon,’ Jet said, eyes circling the hunched-over man. No more red wig, just a stubby graying ponytail at the back of his head.

‘He’s always down here when we open.’

Jet looked up at Billy. ‘And who thought it was a good idea for an alcoholic to live above a bar?’

‘Hedid,’ Billy answered. ‘It’s OK, that’s probably his first.’

‘We should speak to him before he orders his second.’

Billy crossed to the bar to say hello to his boss, and Jet went the other way, past a pair of upside-down legs, black and white striped, bursting from the floor. A lightbulb balanced between its ruby slippers, cord running to the closest socket. Definitely not in Kansas anymore.

There was only one chair at Andrew’s table, and he was sitting in it. Jet picked up another, dragged it over, a squeal that made Andrew wince, cover his ears.

‘You mind?’ he said gruffly.

‘Yeah, I do.’ Jet dropped into the chair, steepling her hands, elbows on the sticky table.

‘I’m trying to drink here.’ He finally looked up, eyes not too faraway, not enough that he wouldn’t recognize her.

‘I can see that.’

Billy had come over too now, placing a chair next to Jet’s, facing the wrong way, straddling it.

Andrew sniffed in his direction, gaze returning to Jet.

‘What happened to your head?’ He pointed at the bandages with his beer bottle.

Jet glanced at Billy, and he glanced back.

‘You haven’t heard?’ Jet studied Andrew’s eyes, his puffy red hands. ‘I was attacked, on Halloween.’

Andrew grunted, shook his head. ‘No, I never touched you. I just yelled.’

‘Not at the fair,’ Jet said. ‘After. In my house. I didn’t see who it was.’

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