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 got rid of the weapons I’ve picked up along the way, ’cause I’m sure they had bodies on them. I still carry, but I’m covered under my retirement and 218, so mine’s legal. Will a certain assistant chief at the department try to fuck me out of my weapon? Maybe. But then maybe he forgot about old Frank and I’m just being twitchy.
I also have a shelf where I store several large baggies of weed; four pill containers, the labels torn off, containing Oxy, Vicodin, Valium, and Klonopin, none of which is prescribed for me; another shelf that holds a little more than twenty grand in cash, stacked and secured with rubber bands; and a baggie that contains around an ounce of good powder. That’s what’s left—an ounce.
Who knows if I’ll get anything out of Jeffrey’s apartment? So I gotta slow down a bit on what blow I have left. My body says I gotta slow down, too. Just have to start cutting back to certain times of the day, never while working. Unless it’s an emergency. Most of the time it is. That’s why I have to do the quick hit on my little cousin’s place and have a plan for what comes after. Planning these ops and then executing them can often take up more of my time than my real job as a PI. But that, along with my scanty pension and whatever work Leslie Costello throws my way, pays the bills.
I’m not getting much work from Leslie, though. It’s taken a while, ’cause I’ve known her for a long time, but we’ve finally settled into a relationship of sorts. It’s something cozy and fun for now. But I don’t think she feels comfortable with bossing me or having to pay me for my PI services. I don’t mind. I actually like it.
After I’ve had my time with the bank, I slide the wall back, secure it.
Upstairs, I grab two 1mg Klonopin pills out of a container I keep in my pocket and down them with a nice shot of Jameson.
I set my iPhone on the coffee table in case Leslie calls, think about putting an old Johnny Cash record or maybe the Cowboy Junkies’ The Trinity Session on the turntable. I light up a smoke instead and bide my time reclining on the sofa. After a bit, the Klonopin flows. It helps ease the tension and my cravings with it.
Four
Four
Daylight is sudden. Trying to surprise me by creeping behind the top edge of the curtains. Pretty sure I found sleep. Unusual because of the amount of blow I put through my system. I check the time on my phone: 7:00 a.m. Damn!