“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Honey shouted.
Beckman laughed. “Trying to return to the safety of the womb in your bathtub. Why?”
“Jesus. Because of what I told you about Malany? You mean Malany got to you like that? Christ almighty, I’m glad I didn’t tell you about it when that smelly Cyclops had the gun on us. You might have let him eat us.”
“I might have,” Beckman said, laughing. He continued laughing until his face turned purple and the vein in his forehead stood out like a heavy rope covered in thin plastic. He laughed, pounded the water with his hands, and thrashed it around like a frenzied child.
Honey got out of the tub, wrapped herself in a large towel, and sat on one of the marble benches near the edge. She waited, legs crossed, chin resting in her hand until Beck
