The sound of the doorman’s intercom woke him, sometime in the early afternoon, jolted from a dead sleep that left him groggy and disoriented.
“Mr. Gault, there’s a man here to see you that claims to be an old friend.” The doorman sounded very dry. “He’s wearing a press badge.”
Julian swore under his breath. Paps always thought they were so creative. “He can leave or he can be drawn and quartered, your choice.” Julian clicked off the intercom and staggered to the bathroom.
Splashing water on his face did little to help his light-headed daze, but did make him realize he was desperately thirsty. He’d had nothing to eat or drink in, what…thirty-six hours?
A glass of water left him feeling better, but a hunt for food turned up nothing more appetizing than pickles and some moldy bread.
He t
