Minus
“Who the f**k do you get your weed from, Warthog? Willie Nelson?”
Cutter bellowed with laughter and smoke continued to pour from his lungs. “I forgot how funny you are when you’re not being so damned serious, Minus.” His laughter continued, and then turned to deep and violent coughing, causing him to stagger back a step. Warthog immediately sprang to his feet, taking Cutter by the elbow, helping to stabilize him.
“I’m fine, goddammit!” Cutter protested, waving Warthog off, sitting down on top of his large mahogany desk, before continuing. “I’m serious, Minus. I’m retiring and I want you to be the president of the club.”
“You want me to be…” I couldn’t form the words needed to complete the sentence. This was f*****g absurd.
“And,” Cutter looked at Cricket, “I want her to help you
