"—uh, okay—how does he look?"
"Very unhappy. Something about you withholding evidence again. That gun. Ring a bell? Or are you still fuzzy?"
"I just woke up. Ouch."
"Pull yourself together now—will you—?"
I sat up, smiled at the new morning, and reached for my robe. Some things never changed, for which you could always be grateful.
Like cops mad at private eyes . . . Mike Monks burned with me.
That always made sense, one way or another.
"My, my," I told the room at large after Melissa had tripped out, humming to herself. "Here we go again."
Anything was better than the Ricco mess.
Anything at all.