Page 7 of Mr. Bad News

I roll over on my back too tired to try and crawl back to my room. The sun is high in the sky and even though my entire body is shaking I’m pleasantly warm.

“I wonder when you’re going to realize that you didn’t make it into work.” Carrie mutters out.

Work? Work! Cocksickles!

I pop up from the floor only to have my stomach lurch up even higher into my throat. The acidic taste of bile splashes up my throat, burning my nose and the backs of my eyes. I yank the pot in front of Carrie and get it under my mouth just in time.

“Girl you’re moving way too fucking fast for me.” Carrie rolls over on the couch, her false eyelashes hanging at the corner of her turquoise blue eyes.

“I missed work, I can’t believe I did this.” I lean against the large soup pot more upset with myself for being irresponsible than anything.

“Don’t worry about it. Your boss called earlier and I told him the both of us had food poisoning. You’re all taken care of.”

I look up at my wreck of a best friend and smile brightly at her. “Oh, I don’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Carrie groans and flips over so she is laying back down on her stomach.

“What the hell happened last night?”

“We went to Keg Gardens and proceeded to drink like we didn’t have livers to think about, then we walked the five blocks back to the house completely ripped out of our minds and then we collapsed here.”

I roll my eyes and my eyelids feel like sandpaper.

“Well I could have figured that out.”

“Yeah, Sherlock, would you have figured out that you tried to put the moves on Mr. Percy Snow last night?”

Fuzzy images of me falling all over Percy Snow start to filter into my mind and all I want to do is go back to sleep and pretend this is all just a bad dream.

“Well at least when I look back on my life I can say I met a billionaire.” I sit up crossed legged on the floor in front of the couch.

“More like tried to fuck a billionaire.” Carrie chuckles slightly before she groans and puts a hand on her head.

I spy my bag in the corner on the floor and I slowly make my way over to it. Little by little I’m starting to feel a bit better. I pull out my phone just to see if Sam’s called again. I rarely take any time off, so I’m not really concerned about missing the day. If he’s going to fire me, because I’m not up some celebrity’s ass then he can deal with me taking a sick day.

I scroll through my messages and miss calls, seeing a few from Larry and a text message from my mother.

“I’m starving, can you order us some food? The greasier the better.” Carrie mumbles from the couch.

I burp. Just the thought of eating something right now makes me want to wretch, but I know that I’ll feel even better quicker once I do.

I put in a doordash order and close out the app. I vaguely remember us sending Madison a video, I hope it wasn’t too embarrassing.

I pull up my photo gallery and scroll through the photos taken last night. I want to burn every single one of them. I’m kissing someone on the cheek and Carrie is mimicking squeezing his nipples. Another photo is of me with my head down on the table and a straw hanging out of my mouth. There’s a video of Carrie and I in the bathroom putting on our own little concert and finally the video we made for Madison. Both of our eyes are glassy, and we’re saying something to each other as we smile dumbly up at the phone that’s not taking any pictures.

I can’t believe I got this drunk. I guess it’s true what they say about you only living once, right?

In the background of the video I see a trio of men standing behind the Keg Gardens. That wouldn’t be strange to me, but even from the video they all look tense as hell.

One of them I know just from the ridiculous neon orange color of his hair. Duck. He’s the biggest troublemaker on the block. For the most part drugs aren't very prevalent in our neighborhood. Though if anyone is looking for a fix, Duck is who they call. He’s been in jail quite a few times for drug possession and a few times for assault. From what I found out about him the only reason he’s not buried under the jailhouse right now is because his father had managed to throw his money around to get him off. The joys of the privileged I guess.

“No way.” I zoom in further to see the rest of the group of people Duck is with. That suit jacket and hair. I can only see the profile and it’s a bit grainy. Except thanks to the technological advancements of Iphone cameras I can still see who Duck is dealing to.

Percy Snow.

I would have never in all my life thought that someone as prim and proper as Percy Snow would come down here to scratch his itch. I rewind and watch the video carefully over and over. I watch the three of them talk. Though I don’t know what they’re saying, it seems intense. Percy reaches into his back pocket to pull out what looks like a wallet and a wad of cash. He hands it over to Duck who nods and reaches out his hand to shake Percy’s. After that small interaction Percy and the other man I can’t recognize walk over to a car while Duck goes in the opposite direction. The deal is done.

The car pulls out of the parking lot and drives in our direction letting me know the make and model, along with the license plate. My reporter brain instantly starts working. I never understand how criminals don’t protect their information better. With these small details I’d be able to find out for sure who the other person is.

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