Page 36 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

JACKSON TOOKa look at the apartment complex Cowboy’s address had led him to and swallowed.

Oh God. Not one of these.

Cowboy and Isabelle had been sitting to breakfast when Jackson had driven by K-Ski’s, a box full of doughnuts as a peace offering for the hour of the visit after the late night. Billy—a health food nut with a capitalnut—had scowled until Jackson pointed to the three red-bean pastries he’d gotten so Billy could have some and not worry about processed sugar.

Sean had given Jackson a grateful look and snagged one of the cream-filled maple bars, the expression on his blue-eyed, Polish-handsome face that of a man about to indulge in a favorite vice.

Cowboy appeared different in the light—less scared, more street savvy. But he kept hold of the little yappy dog, and Billy confided that he was going to have a hard time ripping “puppy” out of the kid’s arms.

“I swear to God, if they took dogs in Disneyland, we’d bring him,” Billy muttered.

“Well, promise him he can see the dog when he comes back,” Jackson said. He paused. “And thenkeepthat promise.”

Billy—a consummate smartass—rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know that? You don’t make promises to that kid and not keep them.” His face softened. “Besides, my little brothers would be happy to be his friend. They can bond over little dogs. We’ll make him an honorary stereotype.”

Billy was proud of his Mexican heritage, and of his family, sans a father, who, Jackson understood, was a piece of work.

“The more family for this kid the better,” Jackson told him. He eyed the kid critically, knowing that a month on the streets could leave a lifetime of damage, some of it purely physical. “Make sure you and Sean take him to get tested,” he said softly. “And when you get back, he’s going to need a thorough physical.”

“And psych workup,” Billy agreed with a sigh. “Yeah. Three days at Disneyland isn’t going to wipe away all the bullshit like a magic diaper rag.”

“No,” Jackson said thoughtfully, eyeballing the way Cowboy took furtive bites of his doughnut as though somebody was going to steal it from him, “but you’d be amazed at how one great memory can help you hold on when shit gets bad. Don’t underestimate what this can mean to him, Billy. But don’t take your eyes off him either—not even in the bathroom.Especiallyin the bathroom. Make sure he knows he can have anything he asks for, even silly things like stuffed animals and toys and sweatshirts, and offer to buy him food or candy every hour. Don’t be surprised if he starts grifting for sugar daddies, thinking he’s got to pay his way, and make sure he doesn’t steal anything. Don’t take it personally if you have to teach him more than once that he’s cared for on this trip.”

Billy made a helpless gut-shot sound. “Yeah. Yeah. I hear you. My brother Roberto, after my dad left—he… he did bad shit because he thought he had to be the man of the house. Kids. They take on all this weight when the grown-ups around them fall down on the job.”

“You, Sean, and Isabelle can help him give a little of that up,” Jackson told him. Then he grinned. “Of course he’ll have to compete with Sean for the biggest kid at the park, you know that, right?”

Billy’s return smile was a little bit bashful. “I can’t wait to see,” he said, his ears turning a warm magenta. “My cop, man—he’s always so serious. I think he’s gonna be fun.”

And that alone sort of made Jackson’s morning brighter. “Pictures,” he said, sobering. “Your job is to take pictures of all of them. When you come back, Henry is going to need pictures to show him what the outside is like. You know him. He’s always so busy. He’s going to need something to help him make plans.”

“Like he and Lance needing their own trip to Disneyland,” Billy said excitedly.

“Yeah. Like that. I mean, he hasn’t seen a lot of great stuff about California. Show him what he’s missing.”

Billy let out a long breath. “Thanks,” he said softly. “Me and Sean, we felt so helpless last night. It’s good to have a plan so we don’t feel that way anymore.”

“Straight up,” Jackson said, and then, conscious that the morning was moving on, he turned toward Cowboy. “Hey, kid, is it okay if I sit by you and have a doughnut?”

Cowboy smiled shyly. “It’s okay, Mr. Rivers. You don’t even want to know what I’d do for a doughnut.”

Jackson winced. “You are absolutely right about that,” he said, meaning every syllable. “But don’t worry. All you gotta do now is give me a little more info, okay?”

The boy nodded and took another furtive bite of the doughnut that carved up a little more of Jackson’s soul.

Jackson took out his phone and opened a notes file. “Okay, first off the easy stuff. Your old address when you lived with your mom.”

Cowboy rattled off the numbers quickly, down to the apartment number and his mother’s first and last name—Reba Milton—and seemed faintly surprised, as though he hadn’t been aware he could do that.

“Awesome,” Jackson said. “Now, can you tell me what school you went to and who your favorite teacher was.”

Cowboy looked stricken. “You… you’re not going to tell them where I’ve been, are you?” he asked, suddenly near tears.

“Oh no. No, kid, not at all.” Jackson felt like a heel of the first order. “No—no. This is for later. When you come back I just want to get some books for you to read, you know? See where you are in math and stuff. You seem like a smart kid. We can catch you up in school in no time.”

“Will I have to go back?” Cowboy asked, those tears still threatening. “They all know I kiss boys now, and for all I know I’ll get the shit kicked out of me and—”

Jackson held his hands up. “Cowboy, I promise—promise—you that wherever you end up, it’s not going to be untilyouare ready. Right now I don’t want you to forget what school looks like, that’s all. And if you’ve read all the books from English class, you can usually pass all the tests so you don’t get too far behind. Okay?”

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