(lxxv.)

The distinct smell of burnt cookies filled the tiny garage.

Joe stumbled in the door.

"Guh. It, uh. Too early," he mumbled, as he turned on the lights.

He meandered across the garage, turning on smaller lights and switching on hydraulic pumps.

He paused, in front of his office door. He turned back toward the misshapen thing hidden under the sheet. He lifted the sheet, and stared at the charred and slightly melty drawing of a child crossing guard.

He shuddered and dropped the sheet.

"Damn you, Lorelei. You had to go and die, didn't you? You had to go and get yourself blown up in a fucking ice cream truck," he started walking back toward his office, and continued rambling. "I haven't had a good night's sleep since, and it's all your fault! You, and and that stupid fucking kid, on the back of that truck!"

He turned on the lights in his office, and slumped into his chair.

"You stupid fucking whore! Just leave me alone! Stop haunting me!" He screamed.

With that, a shadowy figure appeared at the door.

"Hello?"

The door opened with a little jingle. Pierpont stepped inside.

"J.P.? 'Sup?"
"Joe, listen. I need a favor."
"What kind of favor?"

Pierpont sighed heavily.

"Anything you've got. I need to bail out Lory."

Joe furrowed his brow.

"Dude. We've been over this. Lor's dead."
"No, she's not. I just talked to her. She's--"
"You saw the truck same as me--"
"No, listen to me, I just talked to her. She's in D.C. Her arm's in a sling 'cause Chet shot her, but she is still alive."

Joe stared at Pierpont in utter disbelief.

"You... you're kidding, right?"
"No."

Joe stood up, and headed toward the garage.

"C'mon."
"Where are you--"
"We keep all the toys in here."



[chapter lxxvi.]