Unfamiliar didn’t seem like enough to describe what was happening. Smells came from every corner. Old motor oil. Ball sweat. Rotting flowers. Vindaloo. Description and rational comparison went out of Nick’s head.
It was Jabba’s Palace in an abandoned K-Mart. Scum and villainy abound. To say he had to be cautious was the understatement of the year.
Ray was scraping up garbage from the ground with the side of his foot into a small pile. Bits of broken glass, screws, nails, gravel—anything sharp stayed, anything round, plastic or dainty got picked out and tossed to the side. Crouching like a kid building a sand castle, Ray scooped the handful of tetanus and sprinkled it over the double-sided tape surrounding Boom-Boom’s knuckles.
“Sure you don’t want me to go to the methadone clinic and gr
