MONDAY, AUGUST 24, 6:44 PM
“WHO THE FUCK TOOK MY CHARGER?”
The shout comes from somewhere upstairs.
“Define took.”
That one is Chip, from the landing, delighted with himself.
“Chip!”
“Yes.”
A door slams. Feet come down the stairs at speed, and Milo Brennick arrives in the kitchen already talking.
“Give it back.”
“I don't have it!”
“You just said you took it!”
“Exactly.”
Milo sticks half his body inside the refrigerator and looks at four shelves of nothing.
“Why is there nothing in here?”
Errol comes in behind him with a grocery bag, considerably calmer than anyone else currently occupying the house.
“Because we got back last night.”
“That's not an excuse.”
“It's exactly an excuse.”
Milo shuts the refrigerator, annoyed.
“There's only mustard.”
“Yeah.”
“And beer.”
“Then Chip can survive.”
Milo chuckles, and then he turns around, and that is when he sees you standing in the open front door with a bag in your hand.
He looks at the bag. He looks at the hallway behind you. He grins like the night just got easier.
“Jesus. Could everyone be normal for, like, ten seconds?”
he calls, to nobody. Then, to you, warmer:
“So... you need something, gorgeous?”
Before you can answer, two blondes come through the door, catch him by the wrists, and start pulling him toward the hallway. He offers exactly zero resistance.
“Jesus Christ. At least let me finish my beer.”
“No.”
He goes. At the corner he looks back over his shoulder and points two fingers at you.
“Kitchen. Ten minutes. I'm serious about the seat.”