Trump Tower Read Free Page B

love you too,” she said, hung up and looked at the big, dark eyes on the weathered face of the skinny guy lying there next to her. “I have to go.”
    Ricky Lips reached for her. “One more . . .”
    She moved away from him, swinging her legs off the bed, turning her back to him, stretching and yawning. “No way.”
    â€œDon’t be so mean, luv. It’s not only me who likes you . . . look at Little Ricky.” He pointed to himself.
    â€œLittle Ricky needs to be . . .” She leaned over, put her middle finger on her thumb and flicked at it.
    â€œOuch,” he said.
    â€œ. . . little again.”
    Now she noticed that on his night table there was a strange kind of clock. It was a square, black metal box with a red LED face and three columns—hours, minutes, seconds—that seemed to be counting down.
    It read, “244 hours, 41 minutes, 50 seconds.”
    Then it read, “244 hours, 41 minutes, 49 seconds.”
    Then it read, “244 hours, 41 minutes, 48 seconds.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œI got it from NASA,” he said. “Awesome, isn’t it?”
    â€œBut what is it?”
    â€œIt’s a launch clock. See . . . two hundred forty-four hours, forty-one minutes, and forty-two seconds to launch . . . forty-one seconds . . . forty seconds . . .”
    She pointed to him. “If you’re planning to launch Little Ricky, you need to put wings on it.”
    â€œNot that.” He pointed to his ankle bracelet. “That. Comes off in . . . two hundred forty-four hours, forty-one minutes, and thirty-five seconds . . . thirty-four seconds . . . thirty-three seconds . . .”
    â€œHow long has it been on?”
    He said, “Six months, minus two hundred forty-four hours . . .”
    â€œI get it,” she said, standing up and going to the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. She studied herself in the mirror, then turned to look at herself over her shoulder. “Bastard . . . look what that thing did to me.”
    He sat up on his elbows, stared at her, pointed to her, then pointed to himself. “Look what that thing is doing to my thing.”
    She inspected the small red welt on her upper back. “Why don’t you take that thing off when you’re home?”
    He stretched his right leg into the air and stared at the electronic bracelet attached to his ankle. “I can get it off. Easy. But the bloody thing sends a signal when I take it off. They know. Something to do with body heat.”
    â€œBody heat?”
    â€œSome sort of thermometer or something in there, and when it gets too cold, you know, too cold ‘cause it’s not attached, it sends a signal.”
    â€œWhat about when it is attached and gets too hot?”
    â€œThat too. It tells them my temperature.”
    She started shaking her head. “So they see your body temperature go up, and they know you’re fucking.”
    He grinned. “Never thought of that.”
    She moved away from the mirror, picked up her clothes from the floor, and went into the bathroom to shower.
    When she came out fully dressed, Ricky was still lying in bed, naked, looking at his ankle bracelet. “You got me thinking, luv, maybe they can hear, too.”
    She glared at him. “There’s a microphone in there?”
    â€œDunno. Maybe one of them little video cameras.”
    â€œIt’s your ass if there is.”
    â€œWhen are you coming back, luv?”
    â€œNext time I’m feeling charitable.” And, with that, she left the apartment.
    â€œMe visiting shag-the-nurse service,” he said to himself, got out of bed, and walked naked—except for his electronic ankle bracelet—into the living room.
    The place was a mess. The couch cushions were on the floor, and there were empty pizza boxes and beer bottles scattered around. Some guy was sleeping on his couch, but he couldn’t see who it