TWENTY-THREE
Oliver crawled through dirty clothing and soiled paper plates to reach his ringing cellphone that emitted a high pitched noise that resembled a spike entering his head at great velocity. “Hello?” he mumbled.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for three days!” said Richard angrily.
Oliver rubbed his aching head, and poured a glass of whiskey into a glass tumbler lying nearby. “Been busy,” he managed.
“I’m beginning to wonder whether you are capable of handling my business!”
“I’ve been under the weather, Richard.” Oliver hoped that he sounded convincing. He and Cyllvia had burned through several baggies of the Blue in the last three days.
“First you’re busy, and then you’re sick,” said Richard. “Do you still want to handle cases with me?” demanded Richard. “I need to kno
