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 swallow a couple more Oxys. I got them from a previous hit. Have more coffee after. Coffee’s useless. Has been for a long time, but I like the taste, and I’m addicted to the caffeine. Get a headache without it.
I always feel like I have to be doing something, but I think I’ll force myself to stay home, loaf around, be a good-for-nothing for a day or two. I need to heal. Not only that, I need to hide from those fucking reporters.
I think about Leslie again, and that keeps me from using for a little while, until I get this hollow feeling inside, along with anxiety, and I break it out—the good stuff I picked up from the boys on Riggs.
Damn good stuff. Might be the best I ever had.
Turns into a binge. A binge isn’t so fun without television or music. I fall back into the sofa and surf the Internet on my phone. Nothing specific. World news, local news, fucking me, latest presidential fuckup, fucking me again, and that’s how it goes. I decide to play Boggle. A good word game’ll free my mind from this shit.
I get bored after an hour, so I get the bag of crumpled-up money out of the stash wall, dump it all on the living-room floor. I find my plastic bag of rubber bands, then start straightening out the bills and making stacks of ones, fives, tens, and twenties.
I’m taking my time, with several breaks, so it takes a while. When it’s all done, I have a floor covered with fifty-dollar stacks of ones, hundred-dollar stacks of fives, and five-hundred-dollar stacks of tens and twenties. All in all, I have twenty-three thousand dollars, which is a hell of a lot more than I thought it would be.
I stack the money neatly on the third shelf in the stash wall, stuff the filthy garbage bag in the trash, and wash my hands thoroughly.
My phone rings. It’s a DC jail prefix.
I hesitate to answer, but decide to risk it. “Marr.”
“This is Robby.”
“You shouldn’t be calling me” is all I know to say, but then, “Everything good?” Because I sense something in his voice. Something not so good.
“I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I really need something about now. I don’t know if I can handle it like this.”
I want to tell him this is being recorded, but I don’t want to make it sound like I have something to hide.
“You can do it. You have to. That urge will pass. You cooperate, and you’ll be out soon enough.”
“It’s just…”
“Just what, Robby?”
“I just fucking hate myself like this. I can’t…too much going on in my head.”