“There’s people in Manhattan that know every back street, every restaurant, every building,” Harding said.“And every day they profess to be surprised.Or cheated out of real estate.As long as you got a place to hit the rack and hang your hat, we’re calling it good.”
“Other new guy doesn’t even have that,” Chadwick muttered.“Rooming with a DJ, for sweet fuck’s sake.”
“A good one?”Harding asked, and Chadwick shrugged.
“Making a name for himself,” he admitted.“Crosby’s big concern is the substance abuse in the apartment—not by his friend, which is funny, but by the hangers-on.”
“Not by the DJ?”Harding snorted.“That’s unlikely.”
Chadwick made an unconscious gesture then that, to his knowledge, only Joey noticed.It was a small double tap of his thumb against the base of his forefinger, and Joey wondered what it meant.
“I’ve met Toby Trotter,” Chadwick said.“He looks like he’s had some health problems—congenital most likely.I sincerely doubt he’d be abusing substances, but I can see how he wouldn’t want to make a big deal about it if somebody else was.I just think we need to keep a weather eye out for Crosby is all.”
Harding nodded.“He may do better than you think.”
“I’ve read his docket,” Chadwick said mildly.Then he gave Joey a sideways glance from slightly crossed hazel eyes.“I’ll get to yours.”
Joey knew guys in the service with eyes set like that—they were often the best shots, because they’d had to work hard to focus their entire lives.Suddenly he was a little uncomfortable.“Do I get dockets?”he asked, trying to be alert, and to his absolute horror, he let out a yawn.Oh God.Both sides of his family would be mortified.
“I emailed one to you,” Harding said dryly, “but apparently your phone was damaged.Chadwick, go get your shop.I’ll check him out a phone.You’re certified in every weapon we have—we’ll let you choose your service revolver tomorrow.”
So Joey found himself trotting—yes, trotting, because Chadwick was as tall as he was angular, and Joey had always been smaller and more slightly built.To his profound relief, Chadwick didn’t adjust his stride.That would have been humiliating, and it would have meant the man wouldn’t trust him when shit got real.Joey liked being invisible, but he wasn’t too keen about being underestimated.
“So what do you need to settle in?”Chadwick asked, with all the paternal warmth of an analyst asking how to boost internet output.
“Basic rations,” Joey replied, thinking protein bars, potable water, fruit.“Blankets.”He thought for a moment about clothes—because when he was stateside, he did love to dress well sometimes.“A leather jacket,” he said, because his trunk of possessions was currently in storage somewhere upstate, and after his father’s text, he was reluctant to go claim it.“And cleaning supplies.”
Chadwick blinked slowly, and for a moment, Joey wondered if he was flummoxed by something.
“Where are your clothes?”he asked, eyeing the duffel Joey had slung over his shoulder.
“I—”
“See, it would be one thing if you just wanted a jacket,” Chadwick said, as though musing to himself.“A jacket is warmth.Most of us are fans, particularly in the spring.You’re wearing a hoodie, so you apparently noticed it’s not warm yet.But leather is a choice.Most people who want aleatherjacket have a style in mind.So you don’t have blankets for your bed yet, but you want a leather jacket.This implies you’vehada leather jacket and it isn’t here.Where is it?”
Oh God.Joey was too tired for this.“A storage facility I can’t get to,” he said.“I miss it.”
Chadwick nodded as they hit the elevators, presumably for an underground garage.“Anything else there you miss?”
“Stuff,” Joey said noncommittally.
“Huh.Do you know it’s all still there?”
“No.”
“Can you check to see?”
“No.”Joey wasn’t sure whether to be irritated at the intrusion into his life or impressed.
“So it’s Schrödinger’s stuff,” Chadwick said, and laughed quietly to himself.Joey stared at him, trying to process.He knew who Schrödinger was—hethoughthe knew who Schrödinger was—but while he could probably run ten miles this tired and then swim twenty laps for fun, his brain, usually adept with recall and wordplay, had shorted out.
Predators don’t need to know who Schrödinger was, he told himself grumpily.
But Chadwick—whoever he was—wasn’t stupid.“Sorry,” he said as the elevator doors opened and he led the way to a guard kiosk to check out a vehicle and grab the keys.“Most of my jokes are really best in my own head.”
Joey had no idea.
All he knew was that, while the bus ride had been impossible to sleep through with every moment spent assessing the traffic, the stops, the way his father could possibly track him from Washington, DC, to NYC via Greyhound bus, as Chadwick talked and told him to hop in the back so he could chill while Chadwick negotiated traffic, Joey’s eyelids started to droop.
