2
The next morning I locked up, put a ‘closed - get drunk somewhere else’ sign on the door and caught the Pipe. The contact file gave an address on Yang Eighteen. Not a salubrious neighbourhood, but far from the worst. I called Sherry on the way.
“Finally,” she said. “Three days I’ve been leaving messages.”
“Been busy. Drunks don’t serve themselves, y’know.”
A brief silence and I knew she was stopping herself say, You should know. Instead she said, “So can you make it?”
“Make what?”
“Please tell me you did actually listen to my messages.”
“Erm…”
“Christ!” A part muffled sigh of exasperation. “My place, tonight, eight pm. Bring a bottle.” Should be easy for you, she didn’t say.
“What’s the occasion?”
“It’s my birthday, you prick.”
“Can you remember my birthday?” I asked, getting
