Page 130 of Bobby Green

The social worker crouched in front of him, sudden compassion on her face, but Bobby didn’t care. She was the enemy.

“Are you saying he’s incapable?” she asked, her voice loud in the sudden silence. “Are you saying your friend is too impaired to offer good care?”

He knew what she was asking. “He’s smart,” Bobby said, his breath coming in shuddery pants. His open stomach wound stung on the floor. “But she’s so cunning. She’s going to kill him.”

“Honey, this won’t work unless you tell me he’s incapable. Is your friend capable of taking care of his sister?”

He heard it—Reg’s betrayed voice on the other side of the curtain, calling his name just as he said, “No.”

HE DIDN’Tremember much after that. They rewashed and stitched up his stomach wound while Reg sobbed and cursed his name, hidden from view. When they were done, the cop yanked him roughly up, and he begged to go see Reg, to talk to him, to explain—but the cop said he needed to be processed for assaulting an officer first.

It didn’t matter.

Bobby heard the final things he was shouting. “Fuck you! I don’t fuckin’ need you! Fuck off, Vern Roberts—your promises mean shit!”

The words rang through his head as he was taken to the local jail, arrested, and processed. They gave him his one phone call before they threw him in the cell, and he paused for a moment, trying to decide.

In the end there was only one person he could think of who would make sure both RegandBobby were taken care of.

Dex was coming for Reg. Bobby needed his mom.

SHE CAMEto get him in the morning, and for a moment he couldn’t meet her eyes. Then Dex walked in behind her, and he wondered if he could die, right there, melt into the floor.

“Did you see him?” Bobby asked desperately. “Is he okay? They wouldn’t let me see him. They wouldn’t let me talk to him.”

Dex nodded, looking tired. “He’s got a major concussion and some stitches.” He grimaced. “He was pissed at you, so I told him he’d have to do his observation time in the hospital.”

Bobby groaned. “I… they asked me if he was capable,” he said, the shame biting him deep. “It was yes or no. And all I could think was—”

“Nobody was capable,” his mom filled in for him. Her hands fluttered at his shoulders. “Honey, you don’t even have a shirt on.”

“She attacked us in our sleep,” he said. He looked at Dex, begging for forgiveness. “Nobody could take care of her—not one person or two. We needed help, and he wouldn’t ask for it, and I could either….”

The holding cell had been quiet. Basic cinder block, six other guys, three of them drunk. Bobby was built like a tank and apparently looked badass. Nobody touched him.

But nobody talked to him either.

Now he realized it was a good thing he hadn’t talked. One word about what he was talking about and he’d be dead, because his voice would break, and he would have been crying in the jail cell like he wanted to cry in his mother’s arms.

“You could tell them the truth or send him home with his sister like a time bomb,” Dex said on a sigh. “I get it. What Idon’tget is where assaulting a police officer comes in.”

They were walking out, down a long hallway, toward daylight. Bobby blinked at the daylight, his eyes feeling sore and sensitive and small.

“He… when they busted in, I was sitting on her, her hands behind her back, my elbow on her shoulder. I… she’s tiny, Dex. It looked like I beat the hell out of her. But the cop wouldn’t listen. He kept trying to get me to say I beat on her. And the social worker was there, asking me if Reg was capable, and the cop called him retarded and—”

Dex grunted. “Yeah. I get it. Not retarded. Your arraignment is in three days. We got you out on bail now, and I’ve got the lawyer working on the particulars. John’s friend in Florida might have a take on it too. He’s sort of a shark. We’ll see what we can do about no jail time, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said, voice rough. “Jail I could do.”

He looked out to see where they were taking him and realized Dex’s truck was parked at one of the meters nearby. Thank God. He was shirtless and bandaged and looking like a thug from a movie. He’d rather get on his knees and give someone a blowjob on the lawn than look like a violent offender released from jail.

But he was going… to his mom’s apartment, he thought mournfully.

Not home. But somewhere safe.

“Thanks,” he said to Dex as he felt a strong hand on his elbow, helping him up into the back of the cab. Dex helped his mom up too, and Bobby leaned back in the jump seat and wished for death. Sleep. Oblivion.

Anything to drown out Reg’s pitiful voice as Bobby’d been dragged away.