McNihil opened his eyes and gazed up at the charred ceiling. “I don’t need to hear the rest of it.” He rolled onto one arm, then managed to sit up, pulling himself together piece by piece. He’d heard the woman’s voice, but couldn’t tell where she was just yet. “Besides … all my dreams were incinerated a long time ago.” “That’s what you think,” said the ultimate barfly. “Seems like there was enough to get this place going again.” He turned his head and found her sitting on the edge of a sagging mattress, blackened but no longer burning. She sat with her legs elegantly crossed, regarding him with cold and casual amusement. A thread of smoke drifted from the cigarette held aloft in one hand. “I thought you didn’t smoke.” McNihil pulled his legs up and slapped dust and ashes from his trousers. “That’s what you told me in the bar.” “That’s right, I don’t.” The barfly made no move to take a draw from the cigarette. “I’m just doing it for your sake.
