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“Levi must keep the drugs somewhere on the main level. Sione went out of the room to get them, but I didn’t hear him climbing the stairs. I don’t know who makes the Molly, though. I asked Levi where it comes from, and he didn’t tell me anything. Basically said to mind my own business.”
“Well, don’t be so obvious,” Schultz says. “Figure it out another way.”
He expects me to do his job for him. Except that I have zero training and no desire to do any of this. I feel sleazy just for mentioning Ali’s name. I don’t want to get her in trouble. She didn’t do anything to me.
“I think Ali was just stopping by,” I say again. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Schultz shakes his head at me.
“These people are criminals and lowlifes,” he says. “Don’t try to protect them.”
That pisses me off. What makes him think he’s better than them? I bet he’s done all kinds of shady shit in the line of duty. It’s not “moral” vs “immoral.” It’s just a bunch of people on two opposing teams.
I’ve been drafted for Schultz’s team. But I don’t like being there. I don’t want to play the game at all, for either side.
“I better go,” I say, getting ready to leave.
“Keep in touch,” Schultz reminds me.
As we both stand, he grabs my arm, saying, “Hold on.”
He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone, under my right eye. I have to force myself not to flinch away.
“You had an eyelash there,” he says, smirking.
Right. I just bet there was.
When I get back to the apartment, I see my dad’s door still firmly shut. It’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon, and it doesn’t look like he’s left the room. The only mug on the table is the one I used this morning.
I can hear him moving around, at least. But he’s coughing again.
“Dad?” I call out. “I’m home.”
No answer.
I grab my mug and set it in the sink, running water to rinse out the coffee dregs.
Dad has another coughing fit that ends in retching. I jump up, sprinting over to his door and knocking.
“Dad? You okay?”
I push the door open. He’s sitting up on his bed, hunched over, hacking into the crook of his arm.
When he looks up, his face is gray. There’s red froth on his lips.
“DAD!”
“I’m alright. I just need a rest—”
“We’re going to the hospital!”
I pull him up from the bed, holding him steady by the elbow. He’s not that hard to hold up. He’s lost at least thirty pounds. Why didn’t I pay attention sooner? He’s been sick for a couple of months. I thought it was just a stubborn cold . . .
I help him down the stairs, though he keeps telling me he can walk on his own. I doubt it—his color is awful, and he doesn’t look steady on his feet. I take him out through the auto bay ‘cause my car is parked out back.
“You finish that Chevy?” my dad wheezes.
“Yeah,” I say. “Don’t worry about it, Dad.”
