Chapter Eighteen
Rude awakenings.
It felt like only a few minutes had passed when my jangling cell phone jolted me awake. The damn thing never rang, and hearing it was like being on the receiving end of a shrieking banshee. Wincing at the noise and feeling the creeping sludge of a headache, I answered, squinting against the gray daylight pushing through the greasy windows.
“Yeah?” I muttered.
“Mr. Blume, this is Jamal.”
“Oh. Hi.” My mind was fuzzy, slow to piece together how Jamal had helped me the previous evening.
“Look, so after dad went to sleep last night, I went back in and started looking.”
“Oh, crap,” I said. “Don’t let him find out.”
“Whatever, man. He doesn’t know half the s**t I do.”
“I’m a little uncomfortable knowing that,” I said.
Jamal chuckled. “Anyway, look. You
