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My heart pounds as I run a mental inventory of what I.V. meds the clinic should have in stock. The most likely culprit is morphine, which is probably the worst thing Manny could have done. I’m sure he meant well, but what he might not realize is he just made finding Bunny and Kendrick crucial in our continued survival. Neil doesn’t have the right personality to temper my cravings, and he certainly doesn’t have the skills necessary to keep us alive without the help of the others.
I race through all the places Bunny and Kendrick could have ended up after the explosion. We have several safehouses scattered throughout Summer City, some of which are clear on the other side of town. Depending on how mobile they are and what kind of injuries they might have, they could be almost anywhere.
While I muddle through our next steps, my hands start to tremble. Intellectually, I know it’s too soon to be a physical effect of the morphine, but that doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t starting up with its bullshit already. It knows I’ve had a taste of the drug, and psychologically, it’s already gearing up to plan the next fix. Just as escape scenarios run through my head, so do plots of raiding the clinic’s med supply, of stealing from my patients to selfishly keep my body fueled with more of it.
“Neil?”
“Yeah, Doc?”
“You gotta promise me something.”
He frowns. “What’s that?”
I raise my eyes to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna stick to me like glue. Don’t let me out of your sight, not even for a second, and whatever you do, don’t let me touch a syringe or pill bottle. You have to do whatever it takes to stop me. Can you do that?”
He blinks and shifts uncomfortably in his cot. “I mean, sure. I guess.”
“There’s no guessing here, Neil. You’re in charge of keeping me clean. I don’t care if you have to beat the shit out of me to do it. If we’re going to make it through the next few days, if we’re going to find Bunny and Keys and Kendrick, it’s up to you to keep me straight.”
A steely resolve crosses his blue eyes, and he nods. I hate to put that much pressure on the man, but I have to get the point across while I’m still coherent. If I don’t drill it into his head now, there’s no telling what Jonesing Doc might do to get another fix.
Chapter 20
Bunny
I’ve got to give Sun Yi credit for one thing: She cooks a mean bowl of kimchi.
Of course, by the time we sit down for what could possibly be the most awkward family dinner ever, I’m so starved that anything would taste good. I might even eat Keys’ cooking at this point.
Keys. Kendrick. Doc. Neil. The pang of pain in my chest when I think about them stings, and I shove those thoughts aside to focus on staying alive. The odds of any Vipers tracking me down here are slim, but it’s still a possibility. I have to keep sharp, keep my wits about me, if I’m going to stay on this side of the dirt.
Silence and judgment seem to be the main themes of this meal. Sun Yi glares at me over her chopsticks as we eat, and I can only imagine what she must be thinking. I show up after disappearing for ten years dressed as the Summer City Hare, strapped with guns and carrying a baseball bat.
Probably not how she imagined our reunion would be.
When I finish my food, I set my chopsticks down and place my hands in my lap. It feels like the right thing to do, the most respectful thing to do, even though any respect I had for Sun Yi evaporated when I realized her complicity in Mark’s actions.
Since she’s still eating, I wait like that for several minutes. Finally, she sets her chopsticks down as well, though rather than placing her hands in her lap, she dabs at the corners of her mouth with a napkin and pushes back from the table, clearing her throat loudly. I follow her movements out of the corner of my eye, watchful for any signs of her turning on me—or thinking about turning me in.
“Would you like some ginseng tea?” she asks, her tone brisque.
The offering is suspiciously polite. I respond with the entitled attitude of a traditional American-raised daughter.
“Got any beer instead?”
Sun Yi scoffs and mutters in Korean as she heads for the kitchen. My translation’s a bit rusty, but I’m pretty sure every word is aimed at me, and none of it is complimentary.
I follow her in there and park my ass on a barstool while she digs around in the pantry. After a few minutes of searching, she turns around and slams a rusty old can in front of me. From the looks of it, this off-brand beer has been here since Mark was alive.
Yuck. It’s not even cold.
“Here. Here is your beer.” Turning on her heel, she goes back to the dining room and starts clearing the table.
I could help. I could show her that I’m the bigger person in this, but I don’t. I stubbornly ignore the proffered beer and make a beeline for the fridge. I’m thirsty, but I never developed a taste for tea. There’s gotta be something worth drinking in here, even if it’s just filtered water out of the dispenser.
Score! Sun Yi’s holding out on me; there’s a bottle of top-shelf vodka in the vegetable crisper, of all places. I don’t know if she realizes it doesn’t need to be refrigerated, but I don’t mind it chilled.
A string of Korean curses flies from her lips as she comes back in to find me pouring myself a nice, tall glass.
