Part 152 (1/2)

betting.

P.M. was reading what appeared to be a paperback mystery. A lurid one

if one could tell a book by its cover. He seemed to prefer his own

company and a couple of grisly murders at the moment.

Stevie was in the bathroom again. His last attempt at coming clean had

lasted less than a week after he'd el.ecked himself out of the newest

clinic.

They were satisfied, ]Brian thought, an A more than ready to call it a

day. He listened to the final sustained iote.

”I want to do the vocals again.”

Johnno pulled in the pot. Who said you couldn't draw to an inside

straight? He sent the harpist a l.u.s.ty wink. With a laugh, she handed

over a five-pound note.

”How did you know he'd want another take?”

”I know my boy,” Johnno told her. He rose and lifted a fist toward the

engineering booth. Like Brian he noted Pete's irritated scowl and

ignored it. ”Once more into the breech.”

”You can't want another one, son.” Stevie lurched into the studio. He

was flying high now, pumped full of top-grade cocaine with a heroin

chaser. ”Don't you know what day it is? It's Christmas tucking Eve.”

”Not for a couple of hours yet.” Brian buried his irritation. Sad as it

was, they'd get a good twenty minutes out of Stevie before he crashed.

”Let's get it done so you can go home and hang up your stocking.”

”Well, look who's here,” Stevie announced as Emma slipped into the

studio. ”It's our little girl.” He swung an arm around her shoulder.

”Okay, Emma luy, who's the best?”