Maybe it was both. He could still recall the adrenaline rush in his system as he fired off shotgun blasts in the Rosebush, bullets flying around him. The sudden clarity of thought as he did so, the feeling of doing something. Had it only been twenty-four hours ago? Tess must have seen something on his face. “You’re not serious,” she said sternly. “You are not getting involved in this.” “He’s going to need help,” Sam said. “That’s my job,” said Shitbox, who seemed to have gotten himself under control. He was apparently unaware of the film of snot that had pooled in his prodigious moustache. “Nobody’s coming with me,” said Crowe. “Shitbox, you need to stay with them in case I don’t make it back. I’ll stay in touch; make sure your phone is charged.” “But boss,” Shitbox whined. “You said Sam handled himself okay at the Rosebush. He can use a shotgun.
