Anyway, the excerpt, from Devil's Handiwork:
My head felt like a two hundred-piece drum line playing "Wipeout" on constant repeat had taken up residence inside it. Tequila was so not my thing. Coupled with the headache were the waves of heat radiating off the asphalt at the Reno airport. Jess said he knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who had a private jet and who owed Jess a favor. Something about erasing IRS debt. Who knew?
Between Jess and me, we’d devised Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C. By the time we were planning Plans D through F, though, we had polished off two fifths of tequila. Our grand scheme of taking a few million dollars from the Council and spending it on a chain of Mexican restaurants that only served tequila didn’t sound so good to me today. Sounded like the best plan ever, then, though.
