You haven’t thought this through properly, the monkey says, his thick prickly tail coiled tightly around my throat.
“Shh,” I order, yanking him off.
You should turn back, Danny Boy.
“What, so I can get stoned with Chloé?”
Beats losing your license. Imagine that: Dr. Rosenstein loses medical license after he breaks ethical code and batters human trafficker to a bloody pulp.
“There will be no violence,” I say.
The monkey gives me a dubious look.
“There will be no violence!” I shout again, stepping on the gas. My throat, all the while, craving a Jack Daniel’s. On the rocks.