When John Met Bob

"Harry, are you-" His voice cut off and there was a suspicious muffled noise for a few seconds. "Are you high?"

I let myself flop backwards to lay across the bed. This put Marcone upside down about a foot away from my head. If I didn't know better I could have sworn he was biting his cheek to keep from bursting out with laughter. It wasn't funny dammit!

"No." Hells bells that came out whiny.

"Then may I ask why you're sitting naked on my bed? With that skull you keep in your workshop?" I turned to look at Bob. How had he gotten in here?

"I'm *not* high." It seemed like a very important point to get across to him. I couldn't actually answer the question as to why I was on his bed or even how I'd gotten there since I didn't really recall much after the acrid smoke had filled up the lab. "Bob'll vouch for me. Go on, tell 'im!" The hell? Did that really just come out of my mouth?

I started to speak again, to stop Bob before he revealed himself but it was too late. Bob didn't get out much and he seized any opportunity for conversation with vigor.

"He's completely high. Off his rocker, toked up and feeling goooooddddd." Orange lights filled the sockets of Bob's skull and he whirled himself around, rucking up the coverlet beneath him in the process. "We had a little mishap with this potion for speed and invisibility he's been trying out. It's a new combination and Harry's got a little ADD going on in the first place. Patience is not his strong suit, you know? I think he added too much powdered dragonfly wing. I told him to go easy, but does he listen? Nope."

Marcone wasn't trying not to laugh anymore. His face registered surprise and if he'd been anyone else I think his mouth would have literally been hanging open.

"So you're the mafia boss, huh? Nice ta meetcha."