Nausea Read Online Free

correct—drugs could have been the hook. She hurried to get back into the car and the boy was backing out before she shut the door. Nick jerked the gearshift back to D and rolled forward, letting the Ford gain a bit before stepping on the gas.
    “ The Towering Inferno ,” he mumbled to himself as he switched the headlights back on and cruised up to 35 MPH, half a block back from the hatchback. “It was definitely The Towering Inferno. ”
    * * *
    “So it was what, like a pimp or something?”
    “No,” Misty said, shaking her head. “I’m self-employed, don’t answer to nobody. No, just some john. He wanted to play games I don’t play. Didn’t like it when I told him no, that’s all.”
    “You’re awfully…I don’t know…”
    “Cavalier about it?”
    “Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t want to embarrass himself by admitting he didn’t know that word.
    “What am I going to do? The bastard still paid what he owed.”
    “And how much is that?”
    “Nunya.”
    “Nunya?”
    “Nunya goddamn business, Lucky.”
    “All right, all right.”
    Nick stabbed a cube of teriyaki chicken with his fork, having given up on the chopsticks after the first failed attempt. The meat was tougher than leather, hardly becoming of a joint that called itself The Golden Palace. The semiconscious junkie sleeping it off just outside the front door might have been his first clue that it wasn’t exactly a four-star eatery. Nick threw in the towel and concentrated on his iced tea instead.
    “Way I see it, there’s loads of hazardous jobs out there,” Misty said with a philosopher’s air, a tone with which Nick was rapidly becoming familiar. “You think construction workers got it easy? Or firefighters? Those guys wake up every day not knowing if it’s their last one or not, you ever think about that?”
    “Not much,” Nick said.
    “People need buildings to live and work in, need guys to put out fires, and they need to get fucked, too. So it’s there, it’s available, and most of the time it’s just some lonesome cat can’t make it with a girl or them guys can’t stand to look at their wives anymore. Simple, no problem. But sometimes it’s a son of a bitch like the son of a bitch worked me over the other night. It happens. It’s life .”
    “The life you would’ve said no to,” Nick put in.
    “I should get excited about a broken arm from a guy wants to piss on my face? Would you say yes to that?”
    “It’s not that or no life at all, Spot.”
    “Sure it is. Everybody’s pissing in your face, all the time. You just don’t taste it anymore 'cause you’re used to it. That’s about all it is, this whole stupid game: people just pissing all over each other, the rotten bastards.”
    She punctuated her vitriol by impaling a floret of broccoli, dripping with soy sauce, which she poked into her mouth.
    Nick said, “Jesus—you ever consider therapy?”
    “I steer clear of blow and junk,” she said with her mouth full, “which in my world makes me a pretty goddamn stable individual.”
    Nick’s head swam. He brought his glass of iced tea up to his face, stabbed himself in the eye with the straw.
    “Careful there, Lucky.”
    “I just wish you’d show some, I don’t know… indignation. ”
    “Hey, I’m plenty indignated,” she said with a wink. She raised her busted wing, wagged the elbow at him. “Which has gotten me real far, as you can see.”
    The waiter—a Mexican kid no older than fifteen—came around with a pitcher of murky tea and asked if they wanted anything else. Misty shook her head and the kid left the ticket on the table. Nick eyeballed it, the grand total in particular, and swallowed noisily.
    “That’s right,” Misty said, her shoulders slumping a little. “You got rolled.”
    He swallowed again. She dug a thick fold of crumpled green bills from her back pocket and peeled off a twenty.
    “A free fuck and a free meal. Lucky Lucky.”
    Nick felt like a world-class prick.
    * * *
    Half an