Chapter 18
“WHAT’S THIS ALL ABOUT, Mr. Walls?” I ask over a bottle of cold
beer paid for out of the pile of greenbacks set on the bar in front of the
writer. “Why you running when you should be writing?”
“Who says I’m running?” Walls answers, while sipping on a
toddy of vodka over ice. A double. “And what business is it of yours, private
dick?”
Walls is clearly wired. Tired and wired, not unlike myself,
probably due to the same cocaine I’ve been snorting with his . . . um . . .
wife. I’ve already introduced him to Erica, but an introduction wasn’t
necessary, since he recalls her from the many readings and signings he’s done
at the university for the MFA program. Truth be told, I was a little taken
aback when he first caught sight of her, the big man stopping in his tracks and
