What kind of sick, f****d up bullshit lies are these?! They think they can smoke me out with this bunch of nonsense? No, they can just plain smoke me. One, two, and breathe ... K-Ill will be the picture of calmness. He will not draw any attention to himself. He will go find Leena, then get the hell out.
Enrique catches up to me. “Hey man, that's some bad stuff. We better get you out of the public eye for a while. My pad isn't too far—want to crash there?"
"Sounds good to me."
His place turns out to be in walking distance. The whole way there I rant about how none of these reports are true, aside from me owning a collection of antiques, and he listens patiently. People on the street turn and watch, wondering if I'm really me, checking out Enrique's crazy black cowboy boots with the silve
