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“Not, like directly. But she started in on the hard stuff. She always told me she’d never do nothin’ like that. She tol’ me she was afraid of needles. But I guess you know after what happened, she just wanted to get away for a while, y’know what I’m sayin’?”

DeWayne thought of the rock he had smoked at Debbie’s. He remembered the desperate need he had felt for numbness. “Yeah,” he said. “I know what you’re saying. Where’s she at?”

“Fayetteville General,” Mara said. “Room 433.”

“Thanks,” DeWayne said.

“No problem,” Mara said. “And sorry again, about everything. Hell of a thing to happen.”

“Yeah,” DeWayne said. “Hell of a thing. Thanks.” He hung up. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders as he walked back to Debbie’s car. She was seated in the driver’s seat, staring blankly out the window.

“Crystal’s in the hospital,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Hmmm,” Debbie said. She sounded utterly disinterested.

“I gotta go see her,” DeWayne said.

Debbie turned back to him. “You said we was gonna get some more rocks,” she said.

The whine in her voice set his teeth on edge. “I got more important things to do right now than get you high, bitch,” he said.

She looked sulky. “Maybe you can just get out of my damn car, then.”

DeWayne reached between the seats and pulled out the gun. He jammed it up under her chin. “And maybe you can just shut the fuck up,” he snarled.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry. Just don’t hurt me.” Her eyes were wide with fear, but there was something else there, too, something very much like excitement. He heard her breathing quicken. “I’ll do anything you want.”

The blood pounded in DeWayne’s temples and the sickness came back in a wave. Suddenly, he wanted another hit of the thick white smoke worse than anything else in the world. “Jesus,” he said. You are one twisted bitch.” He lowered the gun.

“Just drive,” he said wearily. “We’ll get some more. Then we’ll go find Crystal.”

She smiled brightly, like a child promised a trip to the candy store. She dropped her hand from the steering wheel to squeeze his thigh. “Now you’re talkin’ baby,” she said. She put the car in Drive and returned her hand to his leg. “Now you’re talkin’”.

Raymond looked up as the door opened. He saw the heavy silver cart from which the meals for the entire floor were distributed by a cheerful young black guy dressed in the light blue coveralls that were the uniform of the hospital’s service staff. The last time Raymond had seen him, the man pushing the cart had been dressed in a flannel shirt and a baseball cap.

“‘Bout damn time,” Raymond said.

“Took some time to figure out how to get in here,” Billy Ray said. “We lucked out, though. Fella that works the kitchen’s a customer of ours. He let me, ah--borrow this here cart for a little bit.”

Raymond smiled. “Never though I’d see you deliverin’ meals to shut-ins, Billy Ray,” he said.

The man grunted. He reached beneath the cart and pulled out a pair of Tec-9's, stubby semi-automatics that looked like oversized pistols. Long magazines stuck out from in front of the trigger guards. “50 round mags,” he said, “and these are converted to full auto.” He pulled out a silencer and screwed it onto the perforated barrel. He handed the pistol to Raymond, who took it with his free hand. “What about the cuffs?” Raymond demanded. “A fifty round mag ain’t gonna do me much good if I’m still tied to the bed.”

Billy Ray reached under the cart and pulled out a pair of long-handled bolt-cutters. “Watch the door,” he said as he began working on the handcuffs with the cutters. Raymond held the Tec-9 awkwardly in his left hand, tilting it slightly sideways facing the door. Billy Ray grunted as he chewed on the handcuff chain with the cutters. Suddenly, with an audible snap, the chain parted, leaving Raymond with a single cuff and chain dangling from his wrist. He transferred the gun to his right hand. “Alright,” he said. “Now where do we go?”

“Delmer is downstairs in