Tony got very little sleep. It wasn’t because, like his clients, his whole system was a jangling, teeth-gnashing mass of nerve endings, it was because those same clients were at him almost constantly, their need eclipsing any regard for his privacy or for the simple fact that he might just need to sleep or get things done, himself. They called at all hours, once they had become slaves to Ms. Tina’s charms. They called in the morning, in the afternoon, and at all hours of the night. With Tina, a party happened any time of day.
He ignored many of the calls, but the barrage never ceased. The longer he let his voice mail messages pile up, the more there was to deal with later, no pun intended. And then he placed unreasonable demands on his “cooker” who manufactured the drug out of a farmhouse
