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.
I grab the pipe, open the baggie, pick a nice bit off one of the buds, and pack it in the chamber. I snuff out my smoke in the tumbler and light the pipe. It’s a nice hit. I hold it in while I lean toward Biddy, stretching my arm to hand it to him. His right hand is still gripping the gun, but at least his finger is off the trigger.
He takes a good hit.
I exhale. Comes on quick. I let him finish it up.
He straightens up in the armchair. The weed working to cut the edge off the crack high. Only a little.
“Good weed,” I say again.
Such an odd moment.
“Is it my fault?” he asks softly.
Of course it’s his fault.
“It’s not your fault.”
Seventy
Seventy
You mind if I check the time on my phone?” I ask.
He lifts the gun.
“Finger off the trigger, please.”
He does.
I pull my phone out of my pants pocket.
“What time is it?” Biddy asks.
I notice on the screen that there’s a message from Aunt Linda. Why didn’t I hear the phone ring?
“Four twenty in the morning,” I tell him.
I set the phone on the coffee table. I need a little something to level out this loopy high, straighten my head out again. Can’t reveal that side of me, though.
He lowers the gun back to his lap.
I can tell he’s starting to fade, maybe feeling double what I feel right now because his drug of choice is more powerful than mine. He’s not asking to smoke, so I’m thinking he’s out.
“Did you smoke up all your shit?”
“Yes.”
“That’s hell of a lot in just a few hours.”
“I had a purpose.”
“Well, it brought you here. Can’t say I like how you went about it, though. I didn’t see any sign of forced entry. How’d you get in?”
“Scaled the drainpipe to the second-floor window, busted it out.”
“Damn. You must be light as a feather and have strong arms.”
“I can get into most places if I want to.”
“Well, I forgive you for the window, and even for wanting to kill me, so let’s end this. You’re not going to shoot.”
“I don’t know what to do. I came at you with a gun. That’s a serious charge. I can’t go to fucking prison.”
“You didn’t come at me with a gun. You didn’t even break into my house. This time, I mean.”
Looks up at me, confused.