– He’s in the hall. On the phone.

The door opens and he comes in. Poncho smiles at him. He smiles back. She walks slowly past me and plasters her body against his.

– You’re cold.

– It’s cold out.

– You got something for me?

He kisses her.

– Nice. You got something else?

He holds up the phone.

– Just got the call. It’s on its way.

She melts against him. Pigtails springs up and starts jumping on the beanbag and squealing.

– It’s on its way! It’s on its way!

A redhead in Sleeping Beauty PJs lifts the bottom of one of the bamboo blinds and ducks out.

– We scored?

Pigtails jumps higher.

– The Count is here and it’s on its way!

Poncho points at me.

– And who’s your friend?

The Count wraps an arm around her and leads her toward a couch.

– Baby, don’t you know? That’s Joe Pitt.

The beanbag explodes and a cloud of Styrofoam BBs covers the room. Pigtails falls on her ass.

I brush BBs from my shoulder and try to figure what the hell this is all about. These four living here. Under the same roof. It doesn’t make sense. Why? Because the whole place reeks from the Vyrus. They’ve all got it, every one of them. Four new fish under one roof.

– You know how it is. It’s a small world out there. You hear about people.

– How come I never heard about you?

The Count sits on a tired gold velvet couch, Poncho leaning against him, rolling Drum cigarettes in her lap.

– Why would you? Me, I’m just a new fish. You, you got a rep.

A rep I’ve got.

– Say I wanted to know about you. What would be the story?

Poncho places a cigarette between The Count’s lips, strikes a wooden kitchen match on one of the buttons of his fly and lights the smoke.

He takes a drag, pecks her on the cheek, and exhales.

– The story would be pretty boring, man.

– I’m easily amused.

He laughs.

– OK. OK, man. Well. Until recently I was a student at Columbia. That was like a mom and dad thing, made them happy that I went Ivy League. But my life is down here. Got this place, got my bars, got my ladies, all of it down here. So by day, I’m Mr. Pre-Med to keep my moms and dads happy, keep the trust fund flowing and the lifestyle living and all. By night, I’m doing my thing. I mean, my thing before things changed.

I pull out my Luckys and find the pack empty. The Count pokes Poncho.

– Offer the man a smoke, babe.

She licks the seal on another Drum, walks over to me and puts it in my mouth. I catch her wrist as she’s reaching toward my crotch and take the Ohio Blue Tip from her fingers.

– Thanks, I can light it myself.

She shrugs and settles back in next to The Count. I light up.

– So when did things change?

– A year ago, little less than that.

– How’d it go down?

He took off his coat earlier, but he’s still wearing the big Russian hat. He takes it off now, sets it on Poncho’s head and taps it. It falls down to her nose.

– I’m not too clear on the details.

– How’s that?

He frees the grinning Poncho from the enormous hat.

– Cuz I was mad drunk.

– So tell me what parts you are clear on.

He tosses the hat to the end of the couch.

– Is this what you wanted to ask me about, man? My origin story?

– I just like to know who I’m talking to.

– Not like I know that much about you.

– Said I have a rep.

– A rep, sure.

– What is it?

– Depends who you talk to. Out on the street, in the bars, they say steer clear. But they also say if a person’s in real trouble, you’re someone who can take care of things. Course…

He chuckles.

– Course, that’s not what Tom Nolan says.

I blow smoke.

– What’s he got to do with it?

– Tom? He’s my sponsor.

Pigtails and PJs have been doing something in the kitchen. Now they come over with a tarnished silver tray loaded with a battered coffee service and several mismatched china cups and napkins. They set it on the floor and start filling cups.

I take a last drag off my Drum and drop the butt in an empty wine bottle. It hisses in the lees at the bottom.

– So you’re one of Tom’s?

– You were asking origins, man. Well, Tom’s the one who sponsored me to the Society. He didn’t infect me, but he found me after I got sucked. I’d been at the Mercury Lounge. Got mad drunk on Hennessy and Cokes, went outside and stumbled around and got latched by a sucker. Tom found me. Took me to a safe house, got me nursed up, gave me the 411 on what was going down. Saved my life.

– Hell of a guy.

He stirs sugar into his coffee.

– Well, let’s not exaggerate, man. I mean, he got me pledged and all, and I’m indebted, you know. But he’s, man, he’s…uptight.

– He’s an asshole.

He shakes his head.

– Not for me to say. I haven’t been around long enough to be passing judgment on guys who’ve been doing all the heavy lifting for years.

Pigtails walks over to me on her knees, carrying a cup and the coffeepot.

– Coffee?

– Sure.

I take the cup and she pours.

– Milk and sugar?

– No thanks.

She stays there in front of me, on her knees, holding the pot.

– You really Joe Pitt?

– Yeah.

– Funny.

– What’s that?

– I thought you’d look younger.

– Sorry about that.

She blows at a strand of hair that’s come loose from one of her pigtails and settled on her forehead.

– No, that’s OK. I still think you’re hot.

I sip my coffee.

Poncho leans forward and snags the back of Pigtails’ miniskirt with her index finger.

– Settle down, girl. The man doesn’t want to play with you.

Pigtails scoots backward on her knees, smiling at me.

– But he can. He can play with me anytime he wants.

She sets the coffeepot on the tray and starts whispering in PJs’ ear. The two of them burst out giggling, scramble into the bathroom and close the door.

The Count waves his hand at the door.

– Sorry about them.

– No problem. So, Tom found you.

– Found me, schooled me, sponsored me, pledged me to the Society.

– But you’re not one of his boys?

He finishes his coffee and takes another cigarette offered by Poncho.

– Look, bro, what is it you want to know? Tom my buddy? I already told you not. You mean, am I one of his partisans? Also not. Exercising authority is not my thing. If there’s a referendum at-large in the Society, do I vote how Tom thinks I should? Yep. Guy brought me in, he’s entitled. He needs some cash, wants me to donate to the Clan coffers, do I go the extra mile? Sure. I can afford it. Do I have him up to my place, let him sit in my favorite chair, have my ladies make him some coffee, put those ladies at his disposal? No. Never done that. But here you are. So what’s that tell you?

– Tells me you want something.

He points his cigarette at me.

– That, now that, bro, you ask what your rep is? That is your rep right there. Your rep is, don’t take nothing from nobody no how. Surprised you took the coffee and the smoke.

– Didn’t want to be rude.

He laughs, slaps his knee.

– Yeah, that’s it, that’s the shit. That Slick Willie lone-wolf style. That’s the rep. See, see, me, me? I couldn’t do that. I’m not saying I’m a mama’s boy or anything, but I am, you know, used to having some comforts. In terms of lifestyle, I’d just as soon be like you, Roguing it. But the truth is, I’m not cut out for it.

Poncho strokes his cheek.

– Poor, soft baby.

He nods.

– Pretty much. As it is, I got my Society membership to keep me safe down here. And I got my trust fund to keep me comfortable. ’Course, don’t know how long I can make that last. Told my moms and dads I needed to take a year off. Hard to go pre-med when you can’t take classes during the day. Pretty soon they’re gonna want to know my plans. What am I gonna tell them? Uh, I don’t know, hang out, drink blood, party. So, no, bro, I don’t want anything from you. I just heard about you, thought maybe you were cool. Philip introduced you, I played it easy and all, but, hey, I was kinda starstruck. Truth. So, my crib, my smoke, my girls. Whatever. You don’t want to hang, just want to ask your questions and take off, that’s cool. It’s all good.