“Sorry, I had to leave her home again,” I said. “She had a late night, and she was sleepy.”
“We should get a dog bed for the office. I could keep it right out here with me.”
“Not a bad idea. I’ll think about it.” I looked at the visitor. “Who is this?”
Blake finished the rest of his can and stood up. “This is Charlie. He’s an associate of Mr. Burke’s.”
“Yes, I was expecting you,” I said.
Charlie rose to his feet, all business now. “Mr. Burke says you got something for me.” He gulped from his Gonzo can and belched softly.
I’d wrapped Moon’s thug’s Ruger in a scarf I no longer wore and put the ammo in an empty box I’d found at home. I removed both from my purse and handed them to him. It felt good to get rid of the gun—like I’d accomplished something.
“Thank you,” Charlie said.
“Great meeting you, man,” Blake said.
Charlie put the gun and the ammo into a gym bag that I hadn’t noticed he’d brought with him until now. He tookanother swallow of Gonzo. Then he looked at Blake. “Same, bro, same,” he said. “And try the chin-ups. You won’t be sorry.”
“I will for sure.”
He set his can down on Blake’s desk. “You guys recycle?”
“Just leave it,” Blake said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I didn’t finish the whole thing.”
“No worries. I’ll spill it out.”
After Charlie left, Blake sat back down. “Awesome human being,” he said.
“He seemed fine,” I said.
Blake brought Charlie’s Gonzo can to his lips and drained the rest of it.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Well, first, there are a lot of winter bugs going around, so it’s probably not a great idea to polish off cans left by strangers.”
Blake’s cheeks flushed. He let out a nervous laugh. “I thought that was mine,” he said. “Guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Second, how many of those have you had?”
“Just two. Maybe two and a half.”
“It’s ten in the morning,” I said. “Not trying to act like your mom, but I’d suggest you at least move on to coffee.”
Blake sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m just going to throw these into recycling.”
I followed him into our breakroom, which was really just a converted closet. Blake had been the one to suggest we create one, and I’d accommodated him by installing overhead lights, a sink, a small refrigerator, and cupboards. Then I’d thrown ina couple folding chairs and the coffee maker and called it a day. There could have been more forethought put into the design. The walls were plain white, the floors white linoleum, and, of course, considering the room’s previous life as a walk-in closet, there were no windows. I couldn’t imagine anyone taking an actual break in here, but functionally speaking, it worked. Blake could make coffee for clients, and he could also offer them juice, bottled water, even snacks. Plus, the fridge enabled us to bring lunch to work if we wanted to, decreasing our need for expensive takeout. It had been a good idea, and it had been Blake’s idea. And it made me think about how important it was to take young people like him seriously. Which, of course, brought my thoughts back to Elspeth—the calls, texts, and audio messages she’d been forced to contend with. The guy she’d just started to like, shot dead. Her every waking moment filled with anxiety, terror. It was no way to live for anyone—but Elspeth was barely out of her teens. That was the problem with people like Dylan. They never picked on anyone their own size.
Blake threw the Gonzo cans into the recycling bin. I glanced inside. There were five other empty cans in there. “Yeah, you really might want to try and ease up on this stuff.”
“It’s got vitamins, though. Niacin. B12.”
I gave him a look.
