“Do you have any idea how hard this is to do with a hangover?”
“Easy as fish.” Angelo was holding a three-foot long salmon and bending it back and forth.
“How fresh is this one? It feels good.” He directed his question to the fishmonger, a huge-armed man in his twenties. Someone Russell wouldn’t mess with hungover or in top shape. The man was shoveling bucketfuls of crushed ice and spreading them over his display counter as easily as Russell had tossed back shotglasses of tequila.
Russell had seen this on one of those cute local-interest news clips, but he’d never gotten up at five in the goddamn morning to watch it. A crowd had gathered to watch, phones and cheap cameras poised to capture the upcoming Pike Place Market ritual.
“I kept it aside for you from last night’s flight. Out of
