“Which one’s that?”

“Tall guy with the beard, has a face and head that look like they belong in a caveman exhibit. Before you hand off the phone, know that you’re not going along with Marty and the others. They can’t do their job if they’re also babysitting you.”

Sebastian bristled at the word babysitting. He was about to argue the point when Ron said, “This isn’t up for debate. You go, I pull the plug. Now, put Marty on the phone.”

Marty grunted his way through a fifteen-minute conversation with Ron. After Marty hung up, he returned the phone to Sebastian and explained that he would stay in close contact with him.

“No,” Frank said to Marty. “You’ll be in close contact with me.” Then, before Sebastian could argue: “You’re too emotionally involved. This requires finesse. Patience and detachment.”

If anyone but Frank had publicly dressed him down like that, the guy would have been on the ground, sobbing, picking his teeth out from blood and vomit. Frank knew it, too, and to add insult to injury, said, “No, don’t shoot me that look. You know I’m right.”

Hot, bright white stars exploded across Sebastian’s vision. “When this is over,” he said, his limbs shaking, “we’ll have a meeting, me, you, and Ron, talk about who’s running things.” Sebastian turned to the three men. “Get rid of the body in there.”

Sebastian stormed away. He needed to keep busy, stay out of his head. He paced in the shadows, his skin tingling and itching in places as though it were covered with ants. He knew the real reason behind his discomfort: He hated giving up control, the problem of every alcoholic and addict. In the past, he had treated it with a bottle of Scotch. Now he had to go through the problem instead of drinking his way around it.

Christ, how he missed booze.

That bottle of rare Scotch Paul had brought to the house, the one with the gold crown, was still there. Paul had left it behind, and Sebastian hadn’t thrown it out. Should have, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had been nursing a fantasy of drinking it nice and slow in front of Paul until the old Sebastian came back to life. That person was still there, locked away and maybe a little dusty from disuse, but Sebastian 1.0 was still there, backed up, ready and waiting.

And the strange, messed-up thing? He wanted that previous version. Needed it. Sebastian 1.0 was still plenty angry, and that was a great thing, actually, because what the so-called experts on the subject of rage didn’t want you to know was just how clarifying anger was, how it reduced all the bullshit in your life to ashes and left behind what truly mattered to you. Anger didn’t allow you to hide. It kept you sharp.

Footsteps approaching. Sebastian turned and saw Frank nibbling like a rabbit on one of his organic, no-gluten, no-preservatives, all-natural, and zero-taste protein bars. Frank didn’t partake of junk food, no matter the occasion. Sebastian, the true alcoholic he was, both admired and despised Frank’s self-discipline.