19
G-man took three days to recover from his hangover, and that only because he was young, strong, and an experienced drinker; a lesser man would have needed a week. He went to work, of course—if you can stand, you can work is the cook’s adage—but for the space of those three days he wasn’t much use to anybody. Rickey brought him chocolate spearmint snowballs and reveled in a rare mood of pure, inexplicable optimism. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way in the wake of Milford’s death, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t realized how much the pills and the consulting job had gotten on top of him until he didn’t have to worry about them anymore. His back was sore, but the acupuncture appointments helped some. He didn’t wake up queasy every morning and he could feel his mind beginning to clear.
