Crash flipped through the channels for at least the fourth time in under an hour. All he could find on TV was talk shows and soap operas. He dropped the remote onto the bed beside his leg and wished, not for the first time, they had better cable there. What he was really in the mood for was one of those case file shows that went over old crimes and how they’d solved them. At the club house they had a channel that showed them nearly twenty-four hours a day, but this place didn’t.
It had been a couple days since he’d arrived and while he was still taking pain meds, they weren’t the same as when he’d been in the hospital and he wasn’t as fuzzy or sleepy as he had been there. Now he was just plain bored out of his mind.
“How are you doing, Mr. Zettwich?”
A voice made him look up. He found a
