Chapter 22Mason stopped by the couch and looked down at Fortuna. “Ah, come on, Fort. Give a guy a little room, will ya?”
On the couch, Henley gently pushed on Fortuna, speaking into her pricked-up ear. “You’ve had your time with me, girl. Come on, off you go. Ciccio misses you, anyway.” He looked at Ciccio, who was sprawled on his tattered couch, chewing on his bone. “Go, girl. Come on.”
She sighed and slowly, very reluctantly, maybe a little begrudgingly, climbed off the couch. The minute she had, Mason plopped down next to Henley and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. He’d been hitting it pretty hard this evening, but he was still sober, it seemed. The man’s tolerance was bewildering. “Want some?”
“I’m all right for now, thanks.”
“You think I’m drinking too much?” Mason
