Page 42 of Body Count

I shook my head and pressed the heel of one hand against my eye.It didn’t help with the throbbing, but it was better than looking at him.

“Gray, you could have died.By the time they brought you in, they were fighting to keep you breathing.You’re lucky Sam found you when he did.”

I don’t know why that made it worse, somehow, the idea of Clark fucking Kent saving me.But it did.The worst part was that Yarmark wouldn’t even be a shit about it.Ever since he became a disciple of Saint Somerset, he’d been a goody two-shoes nerd.

“What happened?”Darnell asked.He sounded like the question couldn’t possibly have an answer—not one that made sense to any normal, decent human being.

Maybe it didn’t.Enough was coming back to me from the previous night—and I’d seen enough shit like this on the job—that I had an idea of what happened.They’d put something in my drink.In my drinks, plural.They’d waited until it was closing time.They’d made a video.And they’d probably made a good chunk of money.Tonight, they’d be in another town, and they’d do it again to someone else.Darnell had seen enough ugliness in the world that he’d believe me.But I couldn’t do it.I couldn’t say, Somebody roofied me, and they pissed on me, and they livestreamed it because there are people who pay for that shit.And I was stupid enough to let it happen to me.

I shook my head.

“Sam said there were some guys,” Darnell said like it was a question.

I shook my head again.What was I going to tell him?White?Black?Latino?Old?Young?One had a Captain America shirt.One was in a PBR tee.Yeah, I’m a trained fucking detective.

“I don’t remember,” I finally said.

He nodded, his face set in its usual compassionate worry.

And what did that tell me?I could get so fucked up that they had to take me to the hospital, and he just nodded.Another day of living with Gray Dulac.

“I told them you still had some pills from an old prescription,” he said in a lower voice.

It took me a moment.And then I had to fight to keep from squeezing my eyes shut.He was covering for me.Because he thought I’d been—what?Snorting oxy off a toilet seat between shifts at the glory hole?Somehow, I kept my gaze fixed on the middle distance and said, “Thank you.”

He shifted, and the tubular chair protested quietly under his weight.“There are police at the house.”

I nodded.

“What’s going on?Sam said—” His voice dropped again.“Sam said someone was killed.In our house.That boy.”

“Not in our house.Someone put him there.”

“What?”

“Someone killed him somewhere else and put him in our house.”

Darnell sat back.The chair creaked again.He rubbed his eyes and drew his fingers through his beard.

“Someone’s trying to make it look like I did this.”I adjusted the bedding.“Or you did.”

His breathing became harsher.He turned in his chair so he wasn’t looking at me.

“Where were you last night?”I asked.

He shook his head, staring off into space, his chest rising and falling.

“Darnell.”

He looked at me, but it was like he was looking at someone else.Then he said, “You’re not allowed to ask me that.”

It took me a second before I could believe what I’d just heard.“I’m not asking because I care who you fucked—”

“We have rules.”His voice thinned.“We agreed that we don’t have to—”

“What the fuck are you talking about, rules?What fucking rules?We’re talking about a kid getting murdered.About somebody putting him in our fucking house to make one of us look like we fucking did it.Get the fuck out of here with your rules!”My chest felt tight, and I could hear the strain in my voice.“Where the fuck were you last night?”

Darnell’s expression changed.What I thought, for a heartbeat, was fear fell away, and in its place was the familiar concern.He turned in the chair to face me.He put his hand on my leg.“Gray, it’s okay.Take a deep breath.I think you’re having a panic attack.Let me find your Xanax—”

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