He just smiles. That has not fully changed. There is still the ghost of the same old cheeky Osip smilein it. I rise stiffly and walk over to him. He’s already got a whiskey glass poured for me.
“It’s good whiskey, my brother. I had them screw up my face, not my taste buds. Now, come, drink. Ithink we both need it.”
I grip mine, eyeing it. Would it be beneath my brother to poison my drink?
“Oh, come on now.” Another derisive snort. Osip gulps a bunch of his drink, then mine. “If I wantedto kill you this quick, I would’ve shot you while you were walking here and had your body strung upon top of Skull Palace.”
Skull Palace. Of course Osip called this hunk of abandoned stone that—renamed it and made it hiskingdom. We were both good at that, back in the day. Remaking this s**t
