“Aw, no …” Mickey Falco’s whole body seemed heavier, as if a great weight was pressing down on him. He fell into a chair at Larkin’s bedside. Without waiting to be asked he took a glass from the bedside cabinet and helped himself to a generous slug from Larkin’s bottle, sighed, shook his head. The weight seemed to increase. “Yeah.” His eyes were wet. “We lost her tonight. That’s where I’ve been, the hospital.” “What happened?” asked Larkin, as quietly as he could. “Her surgery, her medication, the injuries on top of that … It was too much. They said there was some infection, they operated …” He took another swig. “She slipped into a coma, then …” He shrugged, put his head down. Trying to keep it bottled, trying not to cry. Larkin said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Eventually, Mickey looked up, in control again. Just. “What a life. What a life she had …” Larkin again said nothing. Mickey took that as a signal to continue. “She started off as a boy, but you knew that.
