“Nanna,” Ophelia said. “This is our guest. His name is Dean.”
“Hello,” he offered.
Unimpressed, Nanna squinted at him with suspicion. “You’re not one of them, are you? You’re not a little China monkey carrying the AIDS, are you?”
Brayker couldn’t have taken out his inhaler at a worse time. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and twiddled it around in his thumbs, hoping the old woman wouldn’t bite his head off.
“No, I’m not.”
He took a hit from his inhaler and quickly shoved it back in his pocket.
“Give me, Steven Sibald, a call now, on 666-7171, and tell me if you think the idiots in charge aren’t trying to kill us.”
“I’ll fuckin’ call him up and tell him the truth, all right,” Nanna said. “It’s them who’s got my boy in quarantine upstairs. In my bedroom, I might add. Poor
