8
Drio stood at the kitchen counter applying Crazy Glue to a machete grip as Rohan warmed up with the Sweet Tooth case. Drio was framed by the window, the trees outside bent almost double and rain lashing the glass. When he heard what had happened to Naomi, his hands tightened on the handle so hard that he cracked it again.
I slipped the box of Kosher salt out of the cupboard. If Drio was mad about the drugs, a quick ward might be in my best interests when we got to the actual topic needing to be raised, since The Flash over there was holding a literal machete.
“You think this oshk is looking for Candyman as well?” Drio said.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rohan said. “The wreta might have known.” He shrugged.
“We need to stop that s**t hitting the streets. Addictions never end well
