My overindulging had nothing to do with my everyday humdrum existence. I was trying to escape the reality of testifying and facing the one man who knew my secrets. The memory alone made me want to hide in a bottle of booze.
Pushing to my feet, I dragged my ass to the bathroom. Bloodshot eyes, a scraggly beard, and chip-filled hair greeted me in the mirror.
Yup, I was a miserable-ass motherfucker.
Reaching for the mouthwash, I took a swig and then used the toilet. Thoughts of the previous night at the police station flooded my mind. Like a bad dream, I couldn’t shake the details as they insisted on keeping me company.
Even after I’d finished my shower and dressed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Rico and the gang and what the A.D.A. wanted me to do. The chica didn’t get it. Taking the stand might keep my butt out of prison, but it would also place a target on my back.
How in the hell would I deal with either possibility?
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish