Chapter 3
“You look like s**t, Boss Man.”
“Yeah? Oh, yeah? And you look like…like…”
Oddly enough, I could think of nothing acerbic to say to Bertie as a comeback. The roly-poly widow with the stark-white hair, her pretty and wrinkle-free face defying the universal law of aging, glowed youthfully despite her seventy-something years. She stood just inside the doorway of the shop and gave me one of her patented accusatory stares, one that stated in no uncertain terms she suspected I had either awoken with a hangover or had eaten way too many spicy foods the night before. Either choice was true to a certain extent, but neither had caused my gloomy disposition since getting up that day.
She closed the door behind her. “What quick jab was your tongue attempting to form, kiddo?”
“Nothing. Ne
