He'd been dosed with something. Cash could tell, because he had a jittery urge to do something in his veins, and lately when he drank he just wanted to wander the streets of London. Now he wanted to do something. He wanted to talk to Ford about the child — (bad idea because Ford would say I told you so; he wanted to find Angie and drink a bottle of bourbon (bad idea — he could no longer take that much bourbon); he wanted to go home to Adrienne and tell her the truth.

He was outside, watching Vesuvius, sipping on his wine because while he could not trust it, he also could not find the will to stop drinking it. If he was going to resist everything else he wanted to do, he was going to have to keep drinking.

He had been observing her for some time. Cash grabbed Antigone's arm as she walked by him and tugged her into his alcove outside of her home. "What did you do," he hissed at her, tone more flat than it was a question.