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“It was twelve!”
“Our interest rates compound hourly. By tonight it’ll be thirteen.”
He starts to walk away and I yell, “You don’t even have my number.”
“Sure I do,” he says without looking back.
Aislin doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. The nameless guy with the quarter has taken care of that.
“How am I supposed to…” I begin.
“Don’t,” Aislin says. She puts her hand on my forearm. “You know what? Don’t even. You’ve done more than enough. Too much. Really. This isn’t your problem.”
“You’re my best friend. Of course it’s my problem.”
She looks at me gratefully, but then her gaze shifts. She rises without a word. There’s a doctor in line at the cash register, holding a piece of pie.
I follow her to him.
“You’re the doctor who took care of Maddox,” she says, yanking on his sleeve. “What’s happening?”
He looks cornered and not happy about it. “He’s still in the OR. It’s going to be a while. Hours.”
“Hours?” I echo.
“He took two bullets. There are fragments in his spine, damage to his liver, and major internal bleeding. If he survives all that, his large intestine is perforated, which means that all kinds of bacteria have been released into his body.”
“But he’s going to live,” Aislin says.
The doctor says, “He may.”
He may?
I look at Aislin, expecting a breakdown. Her face is almost impassive. But her eyes, they tell me the truth.
The truth shocks me. It shouldn’t, maybe, but it does. Her reaction to those two terrifying words, words conveying the possibility—no, the likelihood—that Maddox will die, causes a gleam.
It’s gone in a heartbeat. But I know I saw it.
There’s a part of Aislin that wishes Maddox would just, finally, die and free her.
Strange, maybe, but that decides it for me. I’ll get the money. Because my best friend is not going to live the rest of her life feeling like she dumped her boyfriend when he was helpless.
Maddox is going to live, if I have anything to say about it.
Then she can dump the jerk.
– 38 –
SOLO
I walk the streets of San Francisco with doom in my pocket, a heavy dread in my heart, and a longing to be back at Spiker delivering bagels.
Tommy will come looking for me. I’m sure of that. I knocked him off his stride, and by escaping I’ve probably frustrated him to the point of throwing furniture.
But he can’t find me. So for now I’m safe.
Will he guess that I have the deadly information with me? Will he guess that I’ve hesitated to disseminate it?
