Chapter Fifteen
J.D. Becket's death metal and drug den had been shockingly all cleaned up, almost civilized. Charleston checked the corners of the room, where organizers and systematic patterns had placed items into some semblance of natural order. J.D. was showered, and he wore jeans, shoes and a polo shirt, for some reason beyond explanation. His facial hair buzzed to an even length, he was a new dude.
“You going to a job interview?”
“No, man.”
“It's just, the place is all like.”
“Yeah.”
They had begun the next Planet Charleston interview when a long slender woman, straight brown hair down to her ass, strolled into the smoking den.
“Babe,” she said softly. “I need gas money.”
“Yeah.” J.D. reached for his wallet and pulled out forty dollars for her.
She glanced over, numb-eyed, d
