"Cute," he muttered at her.
He knew why. He did not like it, but he knew. Don't ever put yourself into a spot where your survival depends on one individual. Don't let yourself become so vulnerable to Diane or anyone else. Armor plate. Surround yourself with it. Otherwise it's too fucking easy to get shot down. 383
"Cute," he grumbled at her again. She laughed and slid her arm around his waist and snuggled closer as they walked.
What the hell, he thought. Maybe she's a good lay.
Tuesday 7 December 1999:
1025 hrsUT
"GOOD MORNING, CHEERFUL campers! And how's our peerless leader today?"
Through the haze of a throbbing headache Kinsman squinted up at Hugh Harriman. The little round man was smiling broadly and clasping something behind his back.
"Go away," Kinsman muttered.
"Now, now, don't be testy," Harriman was standing in the doorway of Kinsman's office. He walked all the way in and leaned over the couch slightly to peer into Kinsman's eyes.
"Nicely bloodshot," he pronounced. "Must have been a good party."
Kinsman leaned back on the couch and rested his aching skull against the cool stone wall. "It was quite a party, I'll grant you that." Then, remembering, "Why weren't you there? Where the hell were you last night?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Harriman plopped himself down on the couch beside Kinsman and revealed what he was holding; a thermos bottle. "But first," he said, unscrewing the cap, "try some of Old Doc Harriman's surefire hangover cure. Never fails."
Kinsman watched warily as Harriman poured a reddish liquid into the cup that had been the top of the thermos. He took the cup, but asked, "Aren't you having any?"
Harriman's eyes went round with innocence. "Suspicious this morning, aren't you? Well, if you insist." He hoisted the thermos in salute and put it to his lips.
Kinsman sipped from the cup. It had been a Bloody 384
Mary originally, that much he was sure of. But Harriman had added things to it. It tasted almost sweet, very smooth, very soothing.
"Not . . ."—his voice was a choked whisper—"not bad."
"Good! A little LSD never hurt anyone." Harriman seemed genuinely pleased. Wiping a bit of red foam from his mustache with the back of his hand, he went on, "Now, to answer your original question . . ."
"My question?"
"You are accelerating slowly this morning! You asked why I wasn't at the party last night."
"Oh, yeah." Kinsman could feel his whole nervous system vibrating like the strings of a harp that had been wedged into a supersonic wind tunnel.
"I was doing a bit of homework yesterday, and I got so engrossed in it that I stayed up all night. Haven't been to sleep yet."
Impressed, Kinsman said, "You look damned chipper for a guy who hasn't slept at all."
"That's because I've been stimulating my brain with creative thought, not soaking it in alcohol."
