Shoot the Moon
Jack Murphy is living the Dream: beautiful toothpaste heiress,Echo Dalton,for a wife,fantastic digs on Central Park West, and plenty of spare time to enjoy it. But Jack's got a secret. An unsavory life spent as a ONI dirty trickster, drug smuggler, thief, and gambler. And when the psychos from Jack's past start showing up,Echo wants answers. And soon Jack has to think fast to keep them both alive. More
From Shoot the Moon:
“Anyway, it was big and I set up the trickiest structure. Accounts all over the world and money flying around like... The right mix of drugs and Remy Martin. Like a big whirl of light and money, pulsating like it was alive, like one of those glowing jellyfish things deep in the ocean."
His voice softened and the distance that was always between Mickey and the world melted away as he spoke. I had the first glimpse into what passed for Mickey’s soul: a love for illegal mathematics.”
― Dan Ahearn, Shoot the Moon
"Veeva should count her blessings. Three years ago it was cocaine and a year ago it was crack and lemme tell you, that stuff you got to have. You do anything for that high." He laughed again, savoring his memories. "Where do you think the furniture went? She finally had me carted out of here screaming like an insane man. Spent some time in Bellevue with little sparkly bugs coming out my orifices. Compared to that being a drunk is practically a sensible existence. I get by, though. Something always turns up. You ever notice how that is? If you really want something you can have it, all you got to do is visualize it."
He left the kitchen and came back with a book. It was called Creative Visualization. "See this? There’s some true shit in this book. I sit around and picture a drink and sooner or later I’ve got one in my hand. Lemme tell you, bud, it ain’t hard for me to visualize either. I’m already dreaming about the drinks I’ll have tomorrow. Worrying about ‘em, you know? Trying to get ‘em all lined up. Which is why I have to drink right now. Fucking worry will kill a man sooner than this shit. Hit me, will you, bud?"
I poured him another.
"Before cocaine I had it down. A fifth a day, one drink at a time, kept me going fine till I started tootin’ along with it. Then I lost all sense of proportion. And crack? Man, now that’s a breakthrough in getting fucked up. Sent me right over the edge. After Bellevue, I put it to Veeva: it’s either drink or coke which will it be? Veeva decided I should live a few more years. Now it’s a fight to get my minimum daily requirements. I hate sneaking a drink. I’d like to enjoy it, you know? But Veeva...," he shook his head smiling, "Veeva’s awful Puritanical for a woman of her experience."
"You clean of narcotics now?"
"Mostly. Just some percodan a friend laid on me."
"Don’t worry about it. Let’s have another."
"You’ve had enough for now." I said, "Let’s wait and see if you start to die or anything. I don’t want your wife on my case. I might have to talk to her too."
"This is not going to be easy I can see that. I’m gonna have to work for every drop, right?" I nodded. "Don’t get into my shit, man. I need one more and then we space it out a little, okay? Hold up your side of the contract. And let me worry about my health. Jesus, I already got one old lady on my case, as it is. That’s her job, making my life a misery."
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