Angie repeated. “Come on, John. We know she was treated by Grief Release.” John licked his lips, blinked. He hadn’t spoken in over a minute and Bubba was getting restless. “John,” I said. “I know I had a lighter around here somewhere.” Bubba looked bewildered for a moment. He patted his pants pockets, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Left it downstairs. That’s what I did with it. Be right back.” John and Manny watched him jog toward the stairs at the end of the loft, the hammering clunk of his combat boots echoing off the beams overhead. As Bubba disappeared downstairs, I said, “Now you’ve done it.” John and Manny looked at each other. “He gets like this,” Angie said, “you never know what he’ll do. He tends to get, you know, creative.” John’s eyes spun in their sockets like saucers. “Don’t let him hurt me.” “Not much I can do, if you don’t tell us about Desiree.” “I don’t know anything about Desiree Stone.” “Sure you do,” I said.
