Rotten Chapter 25 After I’m allowed to leave, I head out in the Charger, cruising surface streets. I try to convince myself that my drive is an aimless one, but I meander in the direction of the Daddy Long Legs Bar. I rub at a throbbing vein beneath the skin of my forehead, morose. I’m sorry, boss. You were another victim of Los Angeles—a textbook case of catching a poorly addressed bullet. My bullet. I’m angry, but I don’t kid myself that I am going to go hunt down the beaners responsible, and I don’t think that they will come after me again. They wanted to spill blood to teach me a lesson, and while they would have preferred the blood to be mine, I know they’ve made their point. They are likely already heading down across the border to lay low for a spell (if they aren’t across already), probably anticipating that I’m dumb enough to try and sic the cops on them. I’m so sorry to leave it like this, boss, but it’s more heat than I need. Thanks for the job and the life, though.
