The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 29

The Following Morning.

“That bitch!” I shout and tear through the drawers with equally disappointing results. “That fucking bitch!”

I take a step away from the desk to assess the situation. What the fuck am I going to do now? I knew I shouldn’t have left her unattended. I should have stayed awake until she left. What the fuck was I thinking? How far could she have gotten with it, and who could she have shown it to? How fucked am I right now?

“Fuck,” I mutter again and stomp out of the office. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I stand in the center of the room left hand raised slightly, right hand covering my face. I need to find Eva Lorraine.

With some luck, she hasn’t gotten far. Was that her on the phone? Simon didn’t really sound like a man. No wonder I didn’t remember what that kid was talking about. This was a hell of a brash theft.  

BANGBANGBANG on the front door of my apartment.

“Whoisit!” I bark.

“Nepotism.”

I relax a little and scratch my ass. “Hold on, I’m naked.”

“Fuck, dude,” he moans, bashing what sounds like his forehead into the other side. I'm the first admit that's not a pretty thought. “Get fucking dressed!”

I shamble into my bedroom and struggle into a pair of jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt. By the time I’m back, Nepotism has entered and taken up residence on the couch, looking through a guitar magazine with Slayer on the cover.

“Did you read this?” he asks without looking at me.

I sit, sitting in the chair by the wall. “Why are you here so early?” I scan the room for a clock. I can’t remember where it might be.“It’s still before noon.”

“It’s 11:45,” he says, pointing to the flashing clock by the TV. He taps his foot on the coffee table to signify his disdain. “Eleven-Forty-Five,” he drawls. “The diner is only open until one.” Nepotism violently flips through the magazine. “You should really lock your door.”

Bitch didn’t even lock the door behind her. I rub the sleep into my eyes. “We can get there at 12:45 and they will still serve us.” Should I tell him what Eva took? Should I tell him Eva was here?

“They hate when you do that,” he tells me. “More chance they will spit in your food.”

“Everyone goes there fifteen minutes before the diner closes. That’s why we always fight for a table.”

“And they hate it when everyone does. I don’t want to get spit in my food, do you?”

“They don’t spit in your food.”

“But they want to.” Nepotism tosses the magazine down on the coffee table. “You got that  Swift where Solomon says he wants to give up music and make beer?”

Go to Part 30