The Killing Season
He had no tolerance for pain. He weakened instantly, but I had to force myself to ease off on his wrist. It was the legacy of my days in Viet Nam, and I was not proud of it. "Talk," I said, as gently as I could.
"Prescriptions. I wrote her some prescriptions." His throat sounded knotted up, and he was taking in a lot of air. "That's all."
"You know. Downers. Seconal, Valium, Quaaludes."
"Just a few, not often."
"Did she pay you to do it?"
"Christ no, man. Everybody does it. You think it's a big deal?"
"If it's no big deal, what are you so scared of?"
"The heat's on."
"How do you know the heat's on? It wasn't in the papers. The cops know b