Popcorn 9: Page 10     The last of the stabs fell between two ribs and punctured Michael's left lung, and the soul, its metaphysical bags packed, exploded through the gap. The noisy departure, sounding nothing like doom, took the air out of George, too, halt-ing his momentary bout of repetitive-motion disorder.     Dropping the slick lamp, he stepped away from the bed and began rationalizing why he could wait until the next day to deal with what he had done. The little voice said, It is tomor-row, and the face of the know-it-all clock radio confirmed the news. Call the sergeant, the voice advised.     "Not yet," George said aloud. He picked up the cell phone with his mostly clean hand and entered the memory code for Craig's number. The phone rang three times before a mechanized voice came on to report that Craig's cell phone was currently turned off.     George remembered that the phone had rung sometime during the sex or the murder. Only one friend would call him at this hour, George knew, simply because he only had one friend. Acces-sing his messages, he listened to Craig's excited voice: "Guess what? I'm going to Equinox! With this really hot guy I met tonight. Can you stand it? You can't! Too bad. I wanted to see if you had any crystal you could give me. I guess I'll find some there. Miss me! Call you when I get back."     "Jerk," George muttered as he hung up. The sergeant loomed before him, an unavoidable specter, but he did not want to make that call at this hour if he could at all avoid it. Instead, he decided to fall back on a reliable course of action, one that had seen him through several of life's trials: when all else fails, call your dealer.     With a fresh tone, he entered Ron's code, making the phone dial for him. When an answer-ing machine began repeating its message into his