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But it was bad news for me. He loved me not for myself but like I was part of him. He would do anything not to let me get away, because that would mea... he would lose face. I was like his pretty face. He would do anything – beat me, even kill me – rather than lose face.’ ‘Did he do that to you?’ the HOG said in a husky voice, like he too was trying not to cry. Clumsily he gestured at my cheek. ‘Yeah, sure,’ I said, like I didn’t care. ‘He was drunk. He was always drunk. He was always fucking. The man getting out of the truck didn't look like Jamal, but he didn't care. They were all the same, maniacal, blood-thirsty robots.The airport was busy for a Monday morning. A corporate jet screamed down the runway in front of the idling helicopter. The airport had expanded when the rehab center opened, and it wasn't surprising to see private jets, carrying important people with addiction problems, coming and going.The guy getting out of the Chevy was a stocky Latino with crew cut, black hair.. More

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