52
The next morning, my head is pounding. I don’t recall drinking all that much, but it feels like I’ve got the hangover from hell. Logically, I know it’s likely to be a combination of a bit of alcohol plus a fair amount of tiredness and a smattering of stress. I’m not quite sure what else I expected at the moment, but I don’t feel in any state to go doing deliveries. Andrej and Marek have already been making phone calls, though, mostly in Slovak but with familiar words being interspersed through the conversations. Daniel Cooper. Lisa Cooper. Jessica Walsh. Herne Bay. Claude. France. Innsbruck.
They’ve both been very reassuring. Then again, they would be, wouldn’t they? They want me to be the fall guy for their dodgy dealings. I tell myself not to take it personally, that they’re my only
