CHAPTER 47
THE PLOT THICKENSI sat at Tip’s kitchen table with Ron, drinking coffee and praying to God that Tip’s instinct had been right—that this was some kind of sick setup by Ingle and not a case of Ron relapsing. I tried convincing myself of that, but experience told me not to get too optimistic.
Drug addicts always lie.
Despite what I wanted to believe, I couldn’t afford to let that one truth taint my judgment.
The back door opened and Tip walked in. “They’ll take him,” he said. “He’s got 60 days free.”
The news hit me hard, in a good way. I wanted to jump up and hug Tip, but Ron was already doing that.
“Thanks, Mr. Denton,” he said. “You don’t know how much it means to me.”
Tip smiled. “I think I do.”
“How do we work this?” I asked.
“We’ll pick up your car and anything Ron
