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Back Dead of Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
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I decided to go home, soak my liver in tequila and plan my escape from everyone, including myself. Maybe find a place in the world where names didn’t matter, the rubble of my history meant nothing and the night could swallow me whole.

On my way out of Henry Ford Hospital, I saw Jackie Ochoa and the Ochoa family pet/lawyer, Danny Romero. Danny was gently holding Jackie by an elbow, just in case she should become overwhelmed by the vapors of grief and require a strong man to lean her pliant body against.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I said to Jackie. “He was a good man.”

“Tonight, tomorrow, a month from now—what’s the difference?” Jackie said with dry-eyed indifference. “He’s gone and as such so is the business.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about either,” I said.

“People process grief differently, Snow,” Danny said. “Why don’t you just—”

“Do I—did I love my father?” Jackie interrupted. “Of course. Did he love me? Probably, in his way. Did I deserve more—much more—from him? You’d better fucking believe it.” She took a breath. “I’m selling the business, August. It’s mine now and I’m selling it. I don’t need you as a partner anymore. Sloane’s made a very generous offer on behalf of Vic Bronson. All cash. Then I’m gone. Back to California, where my power and presence are my own.”

“Something’s not right with this Sloane guy, Jackie,” I said. “You should—”

“She should what, Snow?” Danny said. He took a daring step into me. A jock twenty years past his prime, a bully without a good right hook, a rib cage begging to be broken. “Wait around and twiddle her thumbs because you’ve got a washed-up cop’s dollar-store hunch? God! You are so full of yourself! Maybe you’ve got a lot of money, but you’re still a classless hood rat, mayate piece of shit.”

I looked past Danny to Jackie and, holding my thumb and pinky finger to my ear like a phone, said, “Give me a call when you’re ready for a lawyer who doesn’t smell like Cheetos and cheap beer.”

“Fuck you, Snow,” Danny said, backing off. “Let’s go, Jackie.”

Danny ushered Jackie away.

“I hope you know Tomás had nothing to do with your father’s death, Jackie,” I called to their backs.

Jackie turned to me.

Smiled.

9

9

A good drunk is like a bad vacation—you may have gotten away for a while, but in the end, it was expensive and not nearly as enjoyable as you’d hoped it would be.