Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
“It was too dark. An old lady lives there…no…I work nights…I heard screaming. I think the old lady is in serious trouble…no. She needs help!” I even let myself sob once I’m so crazy. I disconnect.
I think this is the drunkest I’ve ever been. Hope I didn’t screw up just now, but I had to get the police there for that old lady’s sake, and I can only pray I didn’t kill one or both of those punk-ass thugs.
I down two Klonopin with what I have left of my bottled water. That should ease my mind a bit. Too late to worry now. Shit, even in the fucking messed-up state I’m in, I know I wasn’t fucked up enough to leave anything on the scene that can connect to me.
They’ll find the old lady. See the state she’s in, and, I hope, do the right thing. I did my part.
I check the time on my phone: 5:30 a.m. Fuck.
I snatch up my pack and run to her house. I have to ring the doorbell three times before I hear her on the other side of the door.
Gotta be looking through the peephole.
She unlocks the dead bolt, then the handle. Door opens.
She’s wearing a white bathrobe I bought her when we were at Greenbrier a few months ago over her pajamas. The air-conditioning feels like a godsend through the open doorway.
“What the hell, Frankie?” She looks me over. “Are you all right?”
“I needed to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why? What are you talking about?”
“I think I really fucked up,” I say, but I meant to say, “I think I’m really fucked up.” Before she can answer I spit out, “I think I’m really fucked up.” And hope she’s too tired to realize.
“What happened? Come in.”
I walk in. She closes and dead-bolts the door behind me. Locks it.
She looks at my backpack.
“You were working?”
“Been a long night of surveillance.”
“You’re drunk as shit.”
I’m still spinning bad, so I guess I am.
“Maybe a little. I’m…I’m sorry. I had to come over. Make sure you’re okay.”
“You said that. Why would you think I’m not?”
“I don’t…” I try to focus, but it’s impossible.
“Get in here,” like an order.
I stumble in and follow her to the living room.
“You smell terrible. Did you soil yourself?”
I check with my hand.
“No.”
“Maybe you should take a shower.”
“Don’t think that’s possible right now. I got clean clothes in my pack.” I don’t know why I said that, because I don’t.
“You take the sofa, then. I’ll get you covers. Don’t go on the sofa until I get the sheets. And try not to pass out.”