We were hanging out at Pete's place.

Tom was watching some dumb ass TV show.

The fridge was stuffed with beer -- cheap american crap that tasted like water from a clogged toilet. But what the hell? I needed to get the edge off, and getting a good drunk on would do the trick.

I discretely checked Pete's "special" compartment and my mood lifted. If I could scarf a teeny bit of Harry Jones by night's end, I'd be floating for hours. Pete's shit was always that good.

I snatched a beer off the shelf and cracked open the top. The whoosh of carbonation escaped. I took a swig and remembered why I was here. The exigencies of my day hadn't turn out as planned. But do they ever for addicts? The dissemination of information would be necessary, requiring the use of language, and therefore my mouth. I downed the rest of the beer and grabbed another. I could feel my jaw losening up.

The deal turned out to be more sophisticated than we'd expected. I suppose it didn't help that I made it more complicated by trying to close it while coming down from a speedball.

I started to speak up but Pete burst in the apartment through the front door. Like so often, he had the common sense to show up drunk. I was jealous. He must have been 4 beers ahead of me. Knowing him, it wasn't on cheap American fecal water.

"I thought you'd be in Atlanta?" he said, banging against the couch in a jocular way.

Tom grunted, but I didn't know if it was from the bump or the simultaneous fountain of blood erupting from the hairy samurai villian on TV.

I sat down. "Brandeis has to look at the new contract. I'm not going into that alone."

Pete said nothing, but then again that was his way.

Now Tom was giggling.

I looked at the screen. An ashen-faced Chinese boy had tears streaming down his face. "Why is that funny?" I said. "Because it's a comedy, you dumb fuck." Tom kept giggling, focused on the screen.

The phone rang. I moved to get it, but Pete had already picked it up. He's always been quick for a drunk.
"Anti-Osmosis Corporation. This is Pete speaking. How can I help you?" he drawled into the phone. I could hear the answering voice very remotely: "Susan speaking. Pete cut the crap and get André on the phone!"
Pete gave me a girlish wink and handed me the phone.

"Susan? You've got everything sorted out?" I asked her. "Listen André you better lay low and do nothing the next couple of days. The mexicans have a loose gun and will be busy. They wont do business until the dusk clears." she said, with her rational voice. "Our window of opportunity will close within the next 24 hours. If we don't find a buyer within that timespan, we could all just lay down and stop breathing." I argued with her. I needed substantial information right now and not things I already knew. "André I can't help you right now. All my sources have dried up over the last couple of days. You get back to this little disfunctional family of yours and keep quiet." she said and hang up the phone.