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Minus “Well, that could’ve gone better,” Cutter said, as he walked around his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and small black medical bag. The type old timey doctors took on house calls back in the day. “There should be some bandages and ointment and shit for your face in here. You can use my bathroom to clean up,” he said, handing me the bag and motioning to the bathroom door. “Cutter, what the fuck—”
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