Noddy went straight to the bar when he came back inside. Morag had a row of shooters lined up in front of her. He took one. Then he took another one.
“We need.” Morag tossed one back herself. “To get.” She chased that one with another. “Away.”
Noddy signaled for Sylvana to bring him a beer. “I can’t believe you did that.”
Morag froze. The vodka half-way to her crimson lips shimmered in the recessed light from behind the bar. Noddy could see tiny unrelated crimson dots running up her forearm. He looked away.
Morag’s head turned slowly, eyes sliding sideways to complete the movement. “I just saved your life.”
Noddy shook his head. “It was over. He wasn’t going to shoot. Not in here. Not in front of witnesses.”
Morag’s vodka completed its interrupted journey. “Oh, I’m sorry. But from where I stood, you had a fucking cannon pointed at your face and a pissed-off drug dealer about to blow your head all over the drum kit. A little gratitude would go a long way right about now.”
Noddy rubbed his eyes. It didn’t help with the pain that was starting to build behind them. “When’s Mick coming back? How much time do we have?”
“Supposed to be Thursday, last I heard. But who knows, with him?”
“You go. Get out of town. Even if it’s just for a few days, till this blows over.”
Morag turned to look straight at him. “Come with me. You can’t stay here. You know what he’s like.”
“I can’t go without Janine. And she won’t leave yet. She’s waiting for her bonus.”
“We’ll get money. Somewhere. Like we used to.”
“Bitch!”
The slap took Morag by surprise. It was delivered from the side, an awkward angle, and was more principle than effect. But a slap in the face is a slap in the face.
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