"Tied one on?"
"You bite the worm last night?"
"Were there really 99 bottles of beer on that wall?"
"Hammered, plastered, wasted, smashed, looped???"
Yes, thank you Fran, thank you Mike, thank you Hugo -- I'll have a lattˇ with a double shot of espresso and you can all shut the hell up. So, I had a little too much last night, so what? Of course, I'll never touch tequila again as long as I live...
I got home and realized Drew was never going to meet me after all. My mistake. My boy, he was so amazing, got me to puke up the booze, fed me aspirin and tea, and put me to bed with the flannel sheets and everything.
Then I check my service this morning and there's a message from Ortiz, the detective, telling me he's got to see me...yeah, when I'm good and ---ooooooo, my head hurts. Why four margaritas? Why?
"Look, Mr. Ortiz. I've payed you for your services, I don't need to hear anymore info.... what?...You what? No, I'm not interested in them....I don't care if they're pictures of -- of who? Yes, right now. I'll be back in my office in five minutes. Come over. And Mr. Ortiz, you'd better be right about this."
He's got photos. Photos of Andrew....and Mark Fitzgerald.
