A blaring horn on Wilshire brought David back from his thoughts. He put the car in drive and pulled away, but slammed on the brakes when he heard an awful metallic clunk. He got back out and picked up the broken gas handle from the ground; he'd pulled away with the handle still in the tank and torn it cleanly off.

He walked slowly back to the well-lit booth.

"I'll bill the usual account," the attendant said.

David managed a weak nod. "That'll be fine."

Chapter 12

CLYDE woke up a few minutes past three, though he'd been squirming in the sheets since two, his scrub bottoms twisting around his legs. The pillow, smudged with sweat, had claimed a few more strands of his hair. His wide feet pattered across the dirty floor to the bathroom. He pissed heavily for nearly a full minute, splattering the toilet seat, which he'd neglected to raise.

A rind of soap clogged the sink drain. He picked up a plastic McDonald's cup from the floor-filled and drank, filled and drank, filled and drank. He avoided his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror when he swung it open. A box of orange lozenges remained half-full. He popped two from the foil sheet and sucked them hungrily, working up saliva to swish around in his mouth.

Opening another can of cat food, Clyde added it to the slop overflowing the bowl, scaring up a swirl of flies. Pacing around the small apartment, bits of cheese and crumbs sticking to the bottoms of his feet, he smoked two cigarettes simultaneously, which seemed to quicken his step. He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, his breathing intensifying until his chest heaved up and down. Climbing into bed, he pulled the dirty sheets up to his chin. He ground the orange lozenges into a paste and swallowed it.

He lowered the sheets and sat up, staring at the footlocker at the base of the table. It lay open, rolls of gauze visible among the glistening medical equipment. A container of DrainEze sat out, casting a solitary shadow on the scarred tabletop. He struck his head with the flats of his hands. A few more strands of hair came out, stuck to his sweaty palms.

A frightened whine started in the back of his throat and rose to a deep bellow. He stood up and shuffled through the mound of dirty clothes to the far wall. He'd stolen a snapdragon from the retarded home, potted it badly in a soggy ice-cream carton, and set it in the corner. Now, he pushed the plant to one side, revealing a disused heating vent. He fumbled in his pockets and removed a money clip. A cheap Mexican design with two fake-turquoise horses rearing on a hammered brass nub, the money clip hid a thin penknife in its side. He dug the knife open with a dirty nail, then slid the blade behind the edge of the vent for leverage.

The surrounding wall crumbled a bit when he pulled the vent out, and Clyde stared reverently at the solitary bottle of pills before touching it. The bottle was unmarked, the pharmacist's label removed and the underlying gum scraped off with a fingernail. He tapped three pale yellow capsules into his palm and took them there on his knees, swallowing them without water. Before returning to bed, he replaced the vent and the plant.

Lying back, he closed his eyes. "Three, two, one," he murmured. "Step back from the door. Three, two, one, step back from the door back from the door back from the-"

Tears pushed their way out under his eyelids, streaking down his temples to the pillow. His hands pushed and clawed at the sheets, fisted and loosened. Finally, he sat up, the key swaying from his ball-chain necklace like a pendant.

Throwing the sheets aside, he crossed quickly to the table, seized the container of DrainEze, and hurled it into the footlocker with such force it nearly bounced out. Slamming the lid shut, he fisted the key and yanked, his necklace breaking easily. His hands were shaking so severely, it took him several tries to slide the key into each of the smooth circular locks, but finally he had the footlocker secured.

Storming across the musty room, he slid the window open with a grunt, tore the screen from its pegs, and hurled the key outside. It bounced once on concrete and lost itself in the strip of thick weedy grass beside the sidewalk.

The beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead were starting to run, stinging his eyes. He dashed to the heat vent again, skinning his bare knees as he slid, and pulled aside the snapdragon, his fat fingers digging into the soft plaster around the vent. He dug two more capsules from the translucent orange bottle and swallowed them. He had the bottle back in its hiding place and the vent pushed into the wall when he tore it aside again, unscrewed the bottle, and swallowed two more pills.