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“You can’t just leave. You have to at least go talk to your adviser, take a leave of absence, or—”
I’m just getting warmed up when there’s a sharp rap from the other side of the room. The alley door is open, like always, because the kitchen gets so hot. Standing there, framed in it, are two uniformed policemen.
“Mr. Leavitt,” the one in front says. He’s blond, middle-aged, nice-looking. “Officer Jason Morrow. We met in December. ”
“I remember,” West says. “What do you want?”
“We have reason to believe you’ve been engaged in the illegal sale of marijuana from these premises. We’d like to have a look around. ”
I move closer to West. He puts his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. Mumbles, “Keep quiet. ”
To the policeman, he says, “This isn’t my property. I can’t consent to a search. ”
“Is this young woman an employee?”
“No. She’s with me. ”
“So you’re the only employee here, is that right?”
West steps away from me, toward the door, and blocks my view of the officers.
I’ve been here before, so many times, staring at his back as he puts himself between me and trouble. But this time the trouble’s come for him.
“Yes. ”
“As the person in charge of the premises, you can consent. ”
“You’re going to have to call Bob. He’s the owner. It’s up to him. ”
“Mr. Leavitt, we have a team at your apartment right now with a trained dog. It’s in your best interest at this point to cooperate with our investigation. ”
West takes the door in his hand and uses his boot to nudge away the wedge of wood Bob uses as a doorstop. “Until you come back with Bob or a warrant, I’m not opening this door. ”
And then he shuts it and flips the lock.
“Call Bridget,” he says. “I’m calling Krish. ”
“West, do you think—”
But he’s not even listening. He’s crouched down, rooting around in my bag. He finds my phone, puts it in my hand. “We have a god-awful mess and not much time to sort it out. If they’re in the apartment, I need to know what’s going on. Call her. ”
My fingers do the work.
I feel as though I’m watching all of this happen from a few feet outside my body, like I can’t do anything but the task in front of me, and I don’t understand enough. It’s all swirling around in my head. West is leaving. The police are outside. He closed the door on them. They’re searching the apartment. He’s got to take care of Frankie. West is leaving. He could be arrested. So could I. I’m an accessory. I can’t do this.
It’s all so thoroughly, confusingly screwed.
The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. West’s got his own phone by his ear, and he’s staring into the middle distance. “No answer?” he asks.
“No. ”
Then my phone chimes with an incoming text. What’s going on???!!!
“It’s from Bridget. ”
“Ask her where she is. ”
I do, and she replies, At W & K’s. On fire escape. Police r here w/ drug dog!!!
