Chapter Eleven
The pounding in my head had subsided slightly. One more cup of coffee and a couple of glasses of water later, my body seemed to be getting back on the straight and narrow. Or as straight and narrow as you can be with a liver like a French Goose and skin like scorched leather.
One of the medics brought me a bowl of warm water, which I used to wash my face and hands, wiping away as much of the soot and smoke as possible. A shower would have been ideal, but so would a scotch on the rocks. I was s**t-out-of-luck on both counts.
I stretched a kink out of my back and, when my balance was finally in tune with my mind, I slipped into the gray t-shirt and faded jeans Rey had dug up from God knows where, threw on my leather jacket and made a step toward the old police station—now f
