Page 106 of Lone Wolf

He entered his penthouse and nearly asphyxiated on the stench of dog gas, a miasma as palpable as smog.

Joey was perched on one of the black leather couches, bare feet up on the cushion, laptop on her thighs. “I know, I know. I went to answer my phone and Dog ate my pastor tacos. Then he throoped everywhere—”

“Translate.”

“Threw up and pooped—BUT DON’T GET ALL ANAL. I did a crime-scene-worthy biocleanup ’cuz I knew you’d freak out so it’s all handled and just smells bad. That’s why I’m out here. I’m letting the Vault air out.”

Shame-immune, Dog the dog rose from his slumber at Joey’s side and shook his mighty head, ears snapping like canvas sails against his skull, tattooing a percussive beat.

Evan’s eyes were watering. He contemplated various decontamination contingencies.

Dog looked undeterred, licking himself with impunity.

Evan walked around the perimeter and threw open the sliding doors to the balconies, his lungs choking on the fresh air. The sun warmed his face, reminding him just how tired he was.

He came back and sat next to Joey. She was eating ranch Corn Nuts, and bits were stuck in her teeth, and the ranch smelled less like ranch and more like ranch air freshener. A glass of orange juice with ice rested directly on the glass accent table next to the couch. He lifted it, wiped the condensation ring with his sleeve, set it back down on a coaster that happened to be nearby because coasters abounded in his penthouse for eventualities precisely like this. He debated encasing Joey along with Dog in airtight Bubble Wrap but figured that might constitute a civil- and animal-rights infringement.

Joey: “That’s all you have to say?”

Still searching for the volume control on his OCD: “I didn’t say anything.”

“’Xactly,” Joey said. “You didn’t ask how it went. The Cheesecake Factory.”

“Right. How did it go?”

She crossed her arms.

“Skip all this crap and just tell me how it went.”

“Okay. It went okay. I came out and did the whole toilet-paper-décolletage thing and everyone laughed and then it was over.”

She tapped away at her laptop. No eye contact. She was in a mood. She took a sip of orange juice. “This glass sucks. It’s too hard to grip.”

“Joey. What’s going on?”

She picked up her phone, caught herself, put it down. She crossed her arms in a kind of pinched hug. Her eyes held irritation verging on fury. And he realized: She was going through withdrawal. From her fucking phone.

She noticed him noticing. “I’m on it, X. The phone shit. Don’t say anything. I’m on it.”

He waited.

Her fingers fluttered. Her eyes were jittery. “At dinner they was all joking about brands and shopping at, like, Barneys, and I was like, ‘Isn’t that the purple dinosaur?’ But for once I said it in my inside voice. But still. I was just sitting there like a dope and I didn’t know what to say. I felt stupid.”

“Do you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Evan took the three burner phones from his cargo pocket and set them on the counter. “I retrieved these from the human-trafficking operation. See if you can get into them to find a line to Karissa Lopatina.”

“That’s it?”

“If you want to talk, talk. If you don’t, we have work to do.”

“Why don’t I just get back in the kitchen and make you a chicken potpie?”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“And then you can keep ordering me around until I take my confused revenge and get knocked up by a tattooed juvie-offender boyfriend.”