CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Avery had abandoned drunken bouts in the morning long ago, but after her session with Sloane, work seemed like the last place she should be. She felt fractured, broken up, and she hated what she saw.
There was always a bar, someplace, where she could get a drink, and Avery found one, a complete dive that had been open all night.
Sunlight was left behind as she walked into a dark room that stank of stale liquor. Two men were arguing in the back. The bartender was trying to solve it.
“Too early for this s**t!” he yelled. “Take it home.”
“I need a drink,” Avery called.
“Sorry, but we’re closed.”
Avery flashed her badge.
“You just opened.”
“And we just opened,” the bartender echoed. “What’ll it be?”
“Whiskey, straight up. Anything,” she said.
“Coming right up.”
A
