I know music, slugger...and I know It when I see It.
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Everything to indicate she's not in good shape. I'd keep tabs on her if I were you. If she's drinking behind all our backs, I would not be even a little surprised.
I don't. I pretend I'm fine with it, but alcoholism runs in the family. The bottle always looks better when people are trying to keep you away from it.
It is a problem, though, a serious one. That's one of the reasons I showed up, and I'm only telling you this so you understand how serious this can be.
Right around the time I started hearing gossip about her around the bank, someone tried to hire me to check up on her.
You heard me. Someone she knows found me and offered to pay me to step in and...try to keep her off the booze. Their intentions were good, they offered a lot...and I was being a royal chickenshit at the time. I took the address they gave me, but I didn't take the money. I called it a big hint from the cosmos...just so you know I'm not running game on my own family.
Do yourself a favor: talk to Faith Lehane. There's a million different shadows that can lead a Slayer down a dark road, booze is just one. She can tell you, leaving Harper to it could end worse than you know.
I'm not at liberty to breach my client's privacy. Based on what my client had to say, however, I can tell you that whatever you may suspect? My client isn't female.
She should be. I've been in Harper's shoes, and when you make one bad choice...others follow. Being a Slayer makes her pretty hard to kill, I get it, but nobody can hurt her worse than she can hurt herself. It's all about the bad choices, Lowell.
He's a good man. And he knows enough about what she's going through to make me shut my trap, because I don't know shit in comparison.
Hey, don't snip at me, slugger. You asked me to talk to her, I did, and I told you what I thought. Just...you, both of you...keep in touch and in the loop. Got it?
And for the record? Fuck you, I didn't say word one to her about drinking this time around, and the first time I told her point blank that her secret life as a lush was her own damn business. News flash, bub, I care about that girl, enough to bitch her out if that's what it takes, but we're not there yet so I'm not going to.
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I talked to her for you, by the way.
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Yeah? What'd she say?
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Everything to indicate she's not in good shape. I'd keep tabs on her if I were you. If she's drinking behind all our backs, I would not be even a little surprised.
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Dude...don't harp on her about drinking. All it does is piss her off.
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I don't. I pretend I'm fine with it, but alcoholism runs in the family. The bottle always looks better when people are trying to keep you away from it.
It is a problem, though, a serious one. That's one of the reasons I showed up, and I'm only telling you this so you understand how serious this can be.
Right around the time I started hearing gossip about her around the bank, someone tried to hire me to check up on her.
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I grew up with an alcoholic. I knew the signs. She's fine.
...Wait what?
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She won't be for long, and we both know it.
You heard me. Someone she knows found me and offered to pay me to step in and...try to keep her off the booze. Their intentions were good, they offered a lot...and I was being a royal chickenshit at the time. I took the address they gave me, but I didn't take the money. I called it a big hint from the cosmos...just so you know I'm not running game on my own family.
Do yourself a favor: talk to Faith Lehane. There's a million different shadows that can lead a Slayer down a dark road, booze is just one. She can tell you, leaving Harper to it could end worse than you know.
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Lemme just take a stab in the dark, here: their last name was Callahan?
You mean Legs? I've talked to her plenty. She don't seem worried about it either.
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She should be. I've been in Harper's shoes, and when you make one bad choice...others follow. Being a Slayer makes her pretty hard to kill, I get it, but nobody can hurt her worse than she can hurt herself. It's all about the bad choices, Lowell.
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She's fine. I don't know how much louder I can say it. She. Is. Fine.
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Hey, don't snip at me, slugger. You asked me to talk to her, I did, and I told you what I thought. Just...you, both of you...keep in touch and in the loop. Got it?
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Yeah, I asked you to talk to her, not bitch at her for drinking.
Fine. Thanks.
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And for the record? Fuck you, I didn't say word one to her about drinking this time around, and the first time I told her point blank that her secret life as a lush was her own damn business. News flash, bub, I care about that girl, enough to bitch her out if that's what it takes, but we're not there yet so I'm not going to.
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Whatever. She felt bitched out.
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