Page 99 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

Jackson shrugged. “Henry, they took her yesterday, and she was ‘the package.’ I get the feeling her other ‘packages’ have been… you know….”

“Dead teenagers,” Henry muttered. “Oh fuck me. Yeah. Okay. I hear you. Revenge isn’t the deal this time.”

“Wish I could tell you it was.”

“Live teenagers are a better outcome,” Henry rasped and then coughed.

“Live Henry is also important,” Jackson murmured, touching Henry’s burning forehead lightly. “Heal. Forget the rest of this bullshit. Shitbag Retty’s not gonna bother anybody anymore.”

“Get ’em, brother.”

“Will do.”

CODY WASsprawled out in his chair, texting like an old newsman on a typewriter, grunting to himself, as Jackson emerged from the CCU.

“How is he?” Cody asked.

“Fighting infection,” Jackson muttered. “God, this phase of it sucks. It’s so scary. It can turn on a dime.”

“It’samazinghow much you know about healing,” Cody pronounced, eyes still glued to his screen. “And yet you are still apparently a neurotic mess.”

“Seems to be the consensus,” Jackson said sourly. “Did you want to stay and finish your conversation while I go down to the morgue?”

“No,” Cody said, with unexpected vehemence, and Jackson realized he’d probably typed the word too. “No, no, no, no, no, because don’t be an asshole, that’s why.” With a final savage poke at his phone, Cody shoved the thing in his pocket and stood.

“Anything I should know about?” Jackson asked, leading the way to the elevators.

“US Marshals are assholes,” Cody replied as the thing dinged.

“All of them,” Jackson asked carefully, getting in, “or just the one?”

“Only the one. Delicate constitution my ass,” he muttered, shifting to the classic voice of mockery. “‘Oh, but Cody, thisis a delicate time in your healing journey.’ You know what’s a delicate time in my healing journey?” Cody asked rhetorically.

“Conversations with yourself?” Jackson hazarded.

“Fuckingboredomis a delicate time in my healing journey,” Cody blurted as the door opened on, oh, hey, the maternity ward. “Beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said to the woman getting onto the elevator with a car carrier in one hand, a baby bag over the other shoulder, and a bemused partner on the other side of the elevator doors who had apparently just watched the mother of his child leave without him.

“No, no,” the woman said, sounding as put out as Cody. “I’m with you. Lying around waiting for shit to start does nothing for me. If this kid is going to start driving me crazy, I want it to happen in my own damned home.”

The elevator door opened on the ground floor, and she got out, and Jackson and Cody continued down to the basement, chuckling a little.

“Apparently you are not alone,” Jackson said softly.

“No,” Cody muttered and then sighed. “No. And that’s all he wants me to know. I’m not alone on my ‘healing journey.’” He used finger quotes, and Jackson felt his deep disgust.

“You know,” he said, “you can tell him to stop calling it that.”

Cody grunted. “Recovery is fine, thank you. Worst thing about being a recovering addict is the… thelingo.It’s like once you put a title on it, you feel like a fraud. You can’t live with a title to your own stupidity—it gives it too much gravitas.”

Jackson had to chuckle. “You know,” he said, “I am afanof that philosophy.” Then he sobered, remembering the night before and Henry’s request that Jackson actually confide in him—like a real friend—that afternoon. “But giving voice to the things that hurt you?” he said thoughtfully. “That showssomebody that they’re part of your circle, you know? Even if it’s just a circle of two.”

Cody grunted. “Why? Why would he want to be a part of my circle of two?”

Jackson smiled to himself as he remembered Cody shouting, “Jackson, Plan B!” the night before, just as all hell was breaking loose.

“Because when you’re sober and in full control of your faculties, you are ablastto be around,” he said, feeling that in his bones.

Cody chuckled a little. “Thatwasone of my finer moments.”

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