Page 64 of Under Cover
I wouldn’t mind some Narcan for my flop—or my pocket. Or some testing kits. I’m about to become nth level paranoid, if you know what I mean.
I’ll see what I can scare up. We need a meet place and some protocols.
Let me see how tight my follow is—gotta go.
He’d been so comfortable texting Garcia that the knock on the door startled him into a cold sweat. He quickly switched his phone to the first setting—McEnany and Jimmy Creedy, at this point—and then to his Kindle app, where he was reading a Tom Clancy novel, before striding to the door to open it.
McEnany barged in. “You jerkin’ off in here or what?”
Crosby held up his phone, where the first page of chapter five was displayed. “Finishing my chapter. Is the world coming to a fuckin’ end?”
McEnany squinted at him. “You read?”
“Four years at Northwestern, McEnany. I’ve got a BA, double major in criminal justice and history. Yes, I fuckin’ read. What do you want?”
McEnany snatched his phone and squinted at the screen. “Jesus, you really are reading this. What is he talking about?”
“Military strategy during naval battles. You want me to pull up some Craig Johnson and you can read about cowboys, or you want to tell me what you’re doing here?” Crosby snatched his phone back and made sure McEnany hadn’t flipped the pages.
McEnany held up his hands. “Take it easy! Man, you need to go downstairs and hang. They’re just playing video games, eating some pie. Creedy said you were being a grouchy asshole, and he’s going to suspect something’s up if you don’t go mooch with the losers.”
Crosby eyed him with distaste. “You know, I’m not a fan of cop-killing criminals, but those puppies don’t deserve to be thrown to the wolves when you finally get your promotion.”
McEnany shrugged. “I can’t help how many bodies I have to walk over in order to get the fuck out of this job. Now get your ass downstairs. Ask if anybody’s got some food. Jimmy’s kid ordered extra for you.”
Yeah, Crosby could do that.
“Fine. Make sure nobody doses me with any fuckin’ drugs. That’s on you, McEnany. You know that’ll get me pitched from the department, and then I’m no goddamned good to anybody.”
McEnany had the good sense to look worried and nod. “I hear ya. Yeah, these bozos have no clue what it’s like to have to piss in a fucking cup once a week. Now are you gonna follow me down?”
“I’ll be down in a sec,” he said. “I left some burritos in the microwave—let me wrap them and put them in the fridge.”
He headed that way, relieved when McEnany walked out. Crosby waited to hear his feet clatter on the stairs before he shoved almost an entire burrito in his mouth so he didn’t get too hungry for pizza. God, he did not want to be in that pit with all the fucking vipers, but hereallydidn’t want to be in there hungry or thirsty.
He grabbed the six-pack he’d brought for just such an eventuality and followed McEnany down the stairs.
THE BEERturned out to be the smartest fuckin’ thing he’d ever done. Once he shared the beer, ate the pizza, and wiped the floor with Junior and his friends Kinsey and Pidgeon onOverwatch, everybody in the apartment was either high or asleep. He told everyone he had to be up early so he could get to his job and do the Sons proud and then made his way up the stairs.
When he reached the second-floor landing, he realized Junior was in the stairwell too.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, thinking about how bad he wanted to be alone in that apartment.
Junior’s eyes flitted left, then right. “Uh, my dad… he, uh, doesn’t want you alone. He, uh, seems to think you might not be straight with us.”
Crosby sighed and leaned his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck ever. Good thing I bought my own fucking blankets. You can have the couch again.”
The relief—and the gratitude—on the kid’s face told Crosby everything he needed to know about how much of what he’d just said had been a lie. Garcia hadn’t been wrong; he had a puppy.
Well, fine.
Crosby had bought a lock for his food cabinets and his refrigerator, and he was starting to trust the kid wouldn’t slit his throat when he slept. He might get twenty winks tonight.
He watched the way Jimmy slunk up the stairs.
Maybe only ten.
WHATEVER ITwas, it was not enough, because when Iliana called Rick Young into her office to interview her department’s newest recruit, she barely waited for the door to close behind him to say, “Jesus, Crosby, you look like shit!”
