Chapter 30
“Matt.” He gave a nod, doing his best to appear friendly. That was part of his job, too. “Your usual?”
“No.” Crist looked at him with bloodshot eyes. Jesus, had he been hitting the bottle already? “Give me a Jack, straight up.”
Ah, shit. It was going to be one of those nights. He took down the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, filled a shot glass, and set it in front of Matt.
“My grandfather died. I buried him today.”
“I’m sorry!” Larry felt like an asshole.
“So am I. He was the only one—” Crist scrubbed a hand over his face, his words petering out.
“Had he been ill?”
“No. He was a big man, strong as an ox, and he’d never been sick a day in his life. All of a sudden he just keeled over.”
“Heart attack?”
“I guess. The autopsy report isn’t back yet.” Crist stared dolefully into the glass of whiskey, then picked it up and finished it in one swallow. He pushed the glass toward Larry. “Keep ‘em coming.” He laid a couple of twenties on the bar.