She reached across her notes to the corner of her desk and extracted a letter from its envelope. It was the second time she had read it that night but possibly the twentieth since she had received it about a year ago.

Dear Cro,

Do people still call you Cro? I used to think that was the coolest nickname in the world.

Surprise! It's me, Janie, this time coming to you from beautiful downtown Bakersfield, home of The Driller Diner, where I am currently employed waitressing tables. The only thing here less appetizing than the patrons is the food.

It's been a few years, so I hope this address in Texas is still a good one to get this to you. As for me, this is like the tenth city I've lived in since I got shoved out of my job in the ICU at Shitcan General Hospital, and onto the street for doing exactly nothing wrong. Needless to say, since the hammer fell I never have gotten my nurse's license back. I've had a lot of lousy jobs like this one, but that's okay because I've never been able to hang on to any of them for very long. You know, depression, meds, worse depression, more meds.

The reason I'm writing is that my sister sent me the obituary on Dr. Numbnuts Corcoran, the incompetent bastard who started it all. Two columns and a photo in the L.A. Times. No mention at all of the lives he took or the one—mine—that he and his cronies in the Cognac and Cuban Cigar Club ruined. Well, at least it was cancer. I hope it was a slow and painful kind. I hope it for all of us.

Thank you for trying to fight them, Cro. At least you tried. That's more than anyone else can say, and plenty besides you knew I didn't do anything wrong. Thank you for trying. I don't blame you for bailing in the end. I never did. I hope you know that. You tried.

Take care. I hope whatever you're doing, you're happy. Me? I get to go into L.A. every few months and see how much my kids have grown. I was always a good mom and I still love them no matter what.

Keep fighting the good fight.

Janie

Keep fighting the good fight.

By the time Alison had finished reading, the Merlot had kicked in. Good thing. Sleep wasn't going to come easily. Now, as she padded unevenly to bed, she was grateful that fade to black was only minutes away.