Theresa took a conservative drag off of the joint, held the smoke in, then let it out through her nostrils. She'd been a social pot smoker before coke became her drug of choice, and although the effects of it might be psychosomatic, it was a way to fit in with the nearby sources of body heat.

"Steve McQueen was my first crush," she said in a hoarse voice as she passed the doobie back to Whistler. "My dad used to make fun of me because I thought he was so handsome in The Getaway. The good ones always die too young."

The toke had made her mouth dry, and she took a quenching swig of beer. Then a drink of Mountain, to see how that tasted in comparison. Blech. Separately they tasted just a little more than bland. Together? Gross.