He reached over and smacked the radio across the room, but it was just a symbolic gesture. He was awake. He tried to sit up, but the movement sent a sharp pain ricocheting around his skull like a pinball.A dozen Coronas sure packed a wallop.His head ached from the beers and his body from the fall down the ravine, and he was as stiff as a two-by-four from sleeping in one position all night. His right arm was numb. He must have slept on it—or he had suffered permanent nerve damage in the fall.Heck of a start to a new week.He rolled out of bed and realized he was still wearing the same clothes from the night before. There was a sizable salsa stain splashed across the front of his T-shirt; Willie looked as if he had been blasted in the face with a double-barreled shotgun. Andy tried to recall the last hours of the evening, but all his mind could retrieve was a vague image of falling over a table … and not his table.He dropped his clothes on the floor and limped to the bathroom. The anesthetic properties of the Coronas had worn off; his left knee burned with each step.
