Chapter 37

• REMY
• The overpowering, repulsive stench of rotting garbage, damp cardboard, and escrementi of both man and beast blanketed Cash and me as we stepped over broken glass and debris in the back alley of a restaurant in Santa Monica. Rats and mice squeaked as they scurried out of our path. Pots and pans clanged noisily from behind the walls as the head chef screamed orders to the staff. That would be me one day. Food was my secret passion.
• “I don’t know about this,” Cash grumbled, pulling his hoodie over his face. “What if we get mugged or-”