Page 364 - Anonymous
P. 364
everything seems intact. Everything except
the empty bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey
on the coffee table.
“Everything’s in place next door," I
tell the Finleys. "I'll take him home.
He'll probably want to apologize when
he's sober. He drank a hell of a lot
tonight."
“Thank you, Creed.” She tells me,
and I nod. I shake Cohen’s hand and
make my way into the car.
