Sick City Read Online Free Page B

older brother. Only these days it was more toughness than love.
    As Randal waited for his car, he supposed that there were worse things than rehab. He would have a bed, meals, and he’d met more than one girlfriend while undergoing treatment. After all, there’s no icebreaker in the world like a shared love of hard narcotics.
    Randal limped to a nearby Jack in the Box and headed straight for the bathroom. He tried to clean the drying shit off of himself as best he could. He used the abrasive brown paper towels and cold water to scrub some of the stench away. He shoved the shitty, wet paper towels in the toilet bowl. When he had done all he could, he flushed the toilet. It immediately backed up, and started to flood. He fled the bathroom and walked as nonchalantly as possible past the customers waiting for their Jumbo Jacks with Cheese. He staggered out to the sunlight again as filthy water began to seep out from under the door and into the restaurant.
    When he made it back to the bus stop the car was waiting for him. Randal slid into the backseat and opened the window wide. The driver, an enormous, sweating black man with a shaved head and an ill-fitting polyester uniform, took off without saying a word.
    â€œHey, man. What’s your name?”
    â€œChristian,” the driver replied, with a heavy African accent.
    â€œHey, Christian. My name is Randal. I was just wondering if we could make a stop on the way. . . .”
    â€œNo stop. Mister Earnest specified no stops. No stops until the hospital.”
    Christian turned the radio up to signal that the conversation was at an end. Goddamn, Harvey! Hopeless, Randal closed his eyes and enjoyed the breeze against his face. After a while he heard some off-key singing and opened one eye. Christian was singing along in a weird, fractured falsetto to Jennifer Rush’s “The Power of Love.” He looked at one of the business cards that had been left in the backseat. DIVINE LIMO , it read, it’s not just when you get there—it’s how you get there! Groaning, he closed his eyes again and waited for sleep.

Chapter Five
    After lunch at Spago Beverly Hills, cocktails at Bar 19, and a furtive blow job in the backseat of his Mercedes-Benz, Dr. Mike was adjusting his tie in the rearview mirror when Lai said, “So, I take it from the ring that you’re married?”
    Dr. Mike smiled without any emotion and said, “Yes. Happily married with two children. But I’m sure you already knew that. I assume you are familiar with Google?”
    Chastised, Lai quieted down. This was Hollywood, after all. Everybody involved knew what the deal was.
    Lai had no illusions that she would ever have the opportunity to talk to Dr. Mike once this encounter was over. But she had got half of what she came for: the addictive, instantaneous thrill of bedding a celebrity. As far as that went, Dr. Mike was okay. Not as exciting as getting head from Dave Navarro in a back room of the Sky Bar, but definitely better than last year’s coke-fueled bathroom sex with stand-up comedian Randy Dick. She looked at the full condom, knotted in the ashtray. Catching her gaze on it, Dr. Mike said, “You know, if you’d like to, uh, freshen up . . . I have a travel-size Scope right there in the glove compartment.”
    Lai shook her head. There was only one more thing she needed.
    â€œWe never had the chance to talk about my brother. . . .”
    â€œYour who?”
    â€œMy brother.”
    â€œOh, yes. An alcoholic, yes?” Dr. Mike began to shake his head. “I’ve dealt with many alcoholics in my time. . . .”
    â€œHe’s addicted to cocaine, Dr. Mike. Crack cocaine.”
    â€œOh, oh, yes. Yes. Where do you live?”
    â€œOh. Los Feliz.”
    â€œWe can talk while I drive you over there. . . .”
    â€”—————
    They were heading down Sunset, toward Vermont. Lai was