You Suck: A Love Story

safe.”
    “I’ll bet that’s what Elijah thought, too, and they got him.”
    “We should go get him,” Jody said. She imagined Elijah Ben Sapir, standing in the full sun by theFerryBuilding, tourists passing him, wondering why someone would put a statue there. Would the brass protect him?
    Tommy checked his watch. “We’d never get there and back in time. I tried that yesterday.”
    “How could you do that to him, Tommy? He was one of us.”
    “One of us? He was going to kill us, if you remember. He kind of did kill us. I resent that. Besides, if you’re covered in bronze, what does it matter if you’re underwater? I was just trying to get him out of
    sight so we could think about our future without him being part of it.”
    “Right. Okay,” Jody said. “Sorry.” Future? She’d lived with a half-dozen guys, none had ever willingly talked about the future before. And she and Tommy had a supersized buttload of future ahead of them as long as someone didn’t catch them sleeping. “Maybe we really should leave the City,” she said. “No one would know about us in anew city.”
    “I was thinking we should get a Christmas tree,” Tommy said.
    Jody looked away from the bug. “That’s a thought, or we could put some mistletoe up, put on Christmas carols, and stand outside waiting for Santa until the sun comes up and incinerates us. How’s that sound?”
    “Nobody appreciates your sarcasm, missy. I’m just trying to get a handle on normal. Three months ago I was stocking groceries in Indiana, looking at community college, driving around in my crappy car, wishing I had a girlfriend, and wishing that there was some potential for something to happen beyond getting a job with benefits and living the same life as my dad. Now I have a girlfriend, and superpowers, and a bunch of people want to kill me, and I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to do next. And it’s going to be that way forever. Forever! I’m going to be scared out of my mind forever! I can’t deal with forever.”
    He’d been barking at her, but she resisted the urge to snap back. He was nineteen, not a hundred and fifty-he didn’t even have the tools for being an adult, let alone being immortal. “I know,” she said.
    “Tomorrow night, first thing, we’ll hire a car, go get Elijah, and pick up a Christmas tree on the way back. How’s that sound?”
    “Hiring a car? That sounds exotic.”
    “It’ll be like prom.” Was she being too patronizing? “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m acting like a weenie.”
    “But you’re my weenie,” Jody said. “Take me to bed.”
    Still holding her hand, he stood, then pulled her up into his arms. “We’ll be okay, right?”
    She nodded and kissed him, feeling for just a second like a girl in love instead of a predator. She immediately felt a resurgence of shame over feeding on Abby.
    The doorbell rang.
    “Did you know we had a doorbell?”
    “Nope.”
    Y ou can’t beat a dead whore in the morning,” said Nick Cavuto cheerfully, because apparently, everyone loves a dead hooker, despite what certain writer types might think. They were standing in the alley offMission Street.
    Dorothy Chin-short, pretty, and whip-smart-snorted a laugh and checked the thermometer probe she’d stuck in the deceased’s liver like a meat thermometer into a roast. “She hasn’t been dead four hours, guys.”
    Rivera rubbed his temples and felt his bookstore slipping away, along with his marriage. He’d known the marriage had been going for a while, but he was feeling a little brokenhearted about the bookstore. He figured he knew, but he asked anyway. “Cause of death?”
    “Toothy blow job,” Cavuto said.
    “Yes, Alphonse,” said Dorothy with a tad too much sincerity, “I’d have to concur with Detective Cavuto, she died of a toothy blow job.”
    “It just pisses some guys off,” Cavuto added, “a professional without skills.”
    “Guy just snapped her neck and took his money back,” said Dorothy with a big grin.
    “So a broken neck?” said Rivera, mentally waving good-bye to a whole set of first-edition Raymond Chandlers, ten-to-six workdays, golfing on Mondays.
    Cavuto snorted this time. “Her head’s turned around the wrong way, Rivera. What did you think it was?”
    “Seriously,” Dorothy Chin said, “I have to do the autopsy to be sure, but offhand that’s the obvious cause. I’d also say she’s probably lucky to go that way. She’s