26It seemed Scratch couldn't get away from that Frank Sinatra song In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning. The radio in the Cadillac was blaring it and Zeke was furiously trying to match the volume.
Zeke kept trying to start up a conversation, but Scratch wasn't interested. He would either nod, grunt, or answer in one-word sentences. For the first time in a long time, Scratch didn't care what happened next. He didn't care if he ever solved the case, he didn't care what was in the hatbox. He didn't give a rat's a*s about Oliver Spiff.
He did want to see Betty. For some reason, he wanted to see her, let her know he wasn't mad about her taking his car, or helping Shaw blackmail him and Immy. He wanted to tell her he loved her. None of this s**t mattered.
No one mattered.
Not Spiff. Not Sha
