Or if they never find him, we might not get it. Still, better than nothing.”
“Or exactly equal to nothing, if they don’t find him.” “Yeah, but it’s evidence. We should at least get part of the reward.”
“If they find him.” “Crook gets caught. We get paid. I don’t see why you’re waffling here, Holmesy.”
Just then, my phone buzzed. “I have to go,” I said, and hung up. I’d gotten a text from Davis:
I used to think you should never be friends with anyone who just wants to be near your money or your access or whatever.
I started typing a response, but then another text came in. Like, never make a friend who doesn’t like YOU.
I started to type again, but saw the... that meant he was still typing, so I stopped and waited.
But maybe the money is just part of me. Maybe that’s who I am.
A moment later, he added: What’s the difference between who you are and what you have?
Maybe nothing. At this point I don’t care why someone likes me. I’m just so goddamned lonely.
I know that’s pathetic. But yeah. I’m lying in a sand trap of my dad’s golf course looking at the sky.
I had kind of a shitty day. Sorry for all these texts. I got under the covers and wrote him back.
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