August 28. Saturday.
Morning.
Dial tone.
Dial tone.
Dial tone.
Groggy. "Hullo?"
"Good morning."
"Izzit? Whu…?"
"Don’t tell me you slept in the car."
"What? Its not like I could just go across the street and check in, could I?"
Disapproving. "No. True."
"Nothing to report anyway. All’s quiet and all that." Groan. Stretch.
"Anybody else around."
"Low-rent. All of them." Yawn. "’Pond scum’ about covers it."
"They see you?"
"You trying to be insulting?"
"Give it a break, then. Go back to the flat and get some rest."
"What?"
"What what? I know your da was Latin, but…"
"You want me to just up and leave ‘em?"
"I want you to be frosty for the next couple days. And that means sleeping in a real bed."
Silence.
"You still there?"
"What are you planning?"
"Nothing I will go into over a cell line. I’ll talk to you later tonight."
Connection cut.