Page 82 of Under Cover
“Kid,” he rasped, “get me some clothes. I can’t go out like this.”
Junior seemed to gather himself then, and without a word he went through Crosby’s drawers, coming back with the sweats Crosby himself had bought, and the underwear and socks, a new T-shirt, and a plain blue hoodie.
It took Crosby three tries to stand, and when he did, he couldn’t get away from the vomit fast enough. He moved to the sink as if wading through poisoned gravy, but the cold water on his battered knuckles, his wrists, his face where it shocked his cuts and bruises, in the nasty pit of his mouth, all served to help him breathe easier. He wiped himself down with a paper towel and threw a bunch of them on top of the vomit puddle.
“I’ll get that,” Junior mumbled, and Crosby let him.
Clothes. Clothes were hard. Small holes for arms, for legs, and pulling the neck over his face was the worst. He was just looking at his hoodie in despair when he felt capable hands on him, helping him, stretching the neck of the thing out so it didn’t rip open his bandages. The same hands sat him down and helped him with his sneakers and socks and then gently placed his phone in his hands while Crosby tried to formulate a plan.
To his immortal embarrassment, he had a terrible, aching erection and thought,Aha—so I finally know why people might like meth, but he also knew that faded after the first couple of uses, so he wasn’t too impressed.
His brain was wandering.
Shit.
He looked at his phone again, and only the constant use, the double life, helped him remember to pull up group two.
Drugged. Out of it. Need to get clear of here.
He hit Send and stood with an effort. Get clear. That was the thing. The thought of the stairwell made him want to vomit again, but even worse, McEnany was probably still there. Hell, Creedy was probably waiting for him on the third platform—everybody knew he took the stairs and not the north elevator.
There was a south elevator.
He looked at Junior, who had sprayed the floor off and wiped it down and was now washing his hands.
“Take me to the elevator at the far side of the hallway,” he said.
Junior grimaced, horrified. “The one that always smells like someone took a crap?”
“Nobody will expect me to come down in that one. We all avoid it.” Crosby hoped. “I need to get clear until my head’s straight. C’mon, kid, help me to the elevator. I’ll disappear. Your dad will never know you were here.”
“You’ll get slaughtered if you go out like this!” Junior protested, sounding legitimately frightened.
Crosby’s phone buzzed.
Hold on, Cowboy—we’re coming.
Gonna be walking outta the south end of the building, he texted.And heading west down the cross street.
He stood and wove his way to the door, and Junior followed. Crosby had rescued his keys from the pocket of his uniform slacks, and he made Junior lock each lock down the line before they turned toward the far end of the building and started to walk.
Junior hadn’t been exaggerating about the smell in the tiny graffiti-encrusted elevator—it was always a fresh dump too. Someone must have cleaned it up every morning, Crosby thought, because the floor was always oddly spotless. But still, a good place to avoid.
Going down fifteen floors was pretty fuckin’ awful, and only the thought that he didn’t want to spend the last five floors wallowing in that smellplusvomit kept Crosby from losing it again.
When he got to the bottom, he turned, his head still swimming, every muscle in his body aching and weak. He took a step out of the elevator and his knees went, and only Junior’s shoulder under his arm kept him going.
“You’re sposed to be getting clear of me,” he mumbled.
“My dad tried to kill you,” Junior almost sobbed. “He drugged your drink. Jesus, I’m so fuckin’ dumb. How… how come I’m so dumb?”
“Not yer fault,” Crosby slurred. “Keep goin’, kid. But if ya stick with me, yer life’s gonna fuckin’ change. Ya gotta know tha’. You help me, ya gotta run far and fast.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Junior whispered, and Crosby wanted to take it back about the kid being so fuckin’ dumb. He wasn’t dumb at all—just scared. Well, you get beaten and violated most days of your fuckin’ life and that’s how you end up, right?
“I’ll think of somethin’,” Crosby mumbled as they made it outside the building. The street running west was a two-lane, almost an alley with a sidewalk. Nobody came up this street because it had no access to the train, no access to uptown. All it had was access to another big cross street in four more blocks.
“Yeah?” Junior snapped, some spirit back in him, although he kept Crosby’s arm slung about his shoulders. “What’re you gonna do?”
