Morgan stood in the lukewarm water of his stolen solar shower. His wound stung as the water hit it, but it was better that it should sting and the stitches get clean than it should stay dirty and get infected. He knew it was an idiotic move to let them get wet, but the sheer amount of filth in the house worried him.

The bathroom was gross. It was mostly wood, no tile, and the wood had a healthy coating of mold and mildew to add a bit of visual interest to the brown walls. Morgan couldn’t afford to be choosy. Soap cured a lot of ills, as his nanny used to say.

He’d thought about cleaning the place up, but now it just didn’t seem worth the risk. He couldn’t let the Roscoes know someone had been squatting here.

Now that the place was on the market, he was going to have to find someplace else to stay. The thought left him queasy and terrified. Realtors didn’t have to give twenty-four-hour’s notice to a squatter, and it would be awkward to wake up to find a realtor standing over him while he tried to hide morning wood or something.

Or worse — the police.

The old house wasn’t home, not by a long shot, but it was the safest he’d felt in a long time. The thought of going back out onto the street made his empty stomach cramp up. He couldn’t face it.

Morgan didn’t know where he’d go or what he’d do. Culvertown didn’t have a lot of boltholes like this one, but there had to be some other place nearby.

He wondered, for a moment, if maybe Jamie could help him out. Jamie wasn’t a friend, not exactly, but he knew what had happened with Roman. He might be willing to recommend someone who could give him a job, at least.

Maybe he’d know someone with a spare room, or a crawl space over their garage, or something. Or maybe he could just front Morgan the cash to go stay in the local Y.

He caught sight of his reflection in the old, cracked mirror and knew he could never tell Jamie the truth. Jamie had been willing, and even eager, to fuck Morgan Patrick, his college rival. There was no way he’d be willing to touch Morgan, the homeless guy squatting in a derelict house.

Morgan might have lowered himself to the point where he was willing to sell crystal meth in back alleys, but he wasn’t about to let Jamie Roscoe see him sink that far.

His phone buzzed, jerking him out of his reverie. Who the hell would be calling him? No one had his number; no one wanted his number.

He should probably get rid of the thing and save the money, but it was his one lifeline to the outside world. He’d need it once he got a job, too. If he got a job. That was starting to seem like a pipe dream, but he’d keep plugging away until he found one.

He answered the call. The number was unfamiliar, but that didn’t surprise him. No one with a familiar number would give him the time of day anymore.

“Hello?” He tried to project professionalism and confidence, hoping it was a potential employer. He could bullshit his way into a hotel for a week or two, until he got onto his feet. At least, he thought he could, if money was going to come in.

“Morgan! Thank God.” The relief in Jamie’s voice was a physical thing, a construct that could wrap its arms around Morgan and hug him. “Phil told me what happened. Are you okay?”

It took Morgan a second to figure out what Jamie was talking about. “Oh. The mugging. Worst thing is my pride, I guess. Who’s Phil?”

“My cousin. Dr. Philip Roscoe. He’s the one who sewed your pretty face back together.”

Morgan blinked. “My ER doctor told you what happened?” he squawked. “Isn’t there a patient confidentiality thing or something like that?”

He should be upset, but all he could think about was the fact that Jamie had heard about the mugging, sought out his number, and called him.

Jamie huffed out a little laugh. “I’m a Roscoe, Morgan, and my mom’s a Culver. You’re in Culvertown. Nothing’s confidential. Ever. Trust me on this.”

Morgan heard the tension in his voice and decided to leave it alone. Whatever was going on with Jamie, it wasn’t for Morgan to sit there and pester him about it. As far as Jamie was concerned, Morgan was the guy who’d burned all of his hopes and dreams to the ground. It was kind of him to bother calling tonight. “Okay, then.”

“Besides,” Jamie added, in a softer tone. “I figured you wouldn’t mind. You know, all things considered.”

Morgan blushed, glad Jamie couldn’t see him. For all the ferocity of their coupling, Jamie really was a gentleman. “Thanks for worrying about me,” he said after a few seconds. “I know you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do. I’m the only one in town who knows you’re not still working for your dad.” Jamie cleared his throat. “Also, if your car needs work — I can’t believe I’m saying this — under no circumstances should you bring it to Ryan’s Garage on High Street.”

“No?” Morgan grabbed his threadbare towel and tried to dry himself off. “Do you think he’s dishonest, or…”

“No, that’s definitely not his problem. Ryan is my eldest brother, and he isn’t at home to distinctions between guys with the last name of Patrick right now. He’s feeling a little belligerent, so I’d just give him his space if I were you.”

Jamie spoke very quickly. “Anyway, moving on, what actually happened? Phil told me it was a mugging, but that can mean a lot of things.”

Morgan sighed. It felt good for someone to ask about him for once. When he wound up homeless, he’d become invisible. There were days when he wondered if he existed at all.

“It was a case of mistaken identity. These three guys, they looked like extras from a bad Poison video from the 80s, they grabbed me in an alley. They thought I was I was some other guy, some gun runner.”

“Jesus! You’re lucky you got away with your life,” Jamie gasped. “How did you get out of it?”

Morgan laughed. At the time, it hadn’t been funny. Now that he had to say it out loud, it was hilarious. “Honestly? A little old lady saved me.”

“A little old lady.” Jamie’s tone was flat. He didn’t believe Morgan. Morgan probably wouldn’t have believed it himself if he hadn’t been there, so he didn’t take it personally.

“Swear to God. She was about four feet tall, blue hair in a neat little bun, she had a little handbag and everything. It was wild. She just came in and harangued them until they dropped me.”

Tears streamed from his eyes, and this time it wasn’t just from laughter. Jamie couldn’t see him, though, so he’d attribute the noise to humor and let it go. At least, Morgan had to hope he would. “She really had called 911, too. The ambulance came and took me away.”

“Oh my God.” Jamie wasn’t laughing. “I think that might have been my mom’s great aunt Sadie.. She’s about a thousand years old, and she said something this morning about stopping a mugging. We all wrote her off as a little cuckoo. But I guess she was right.”

“Oh God.” Morgan ran for the door, clutching at the towel around his waist. He had to double check the locks. “Did she talk to the cops?”

“Probably. I’m not sure they take her seriously, either. That’s the problem with getting old. No one listens. I’m glad she was there for you, though. I’ll check in with her tomorrow morning.”

Morgan sagged with relief. “Thanks. And if you wouldn’t mind, could you thank her for saving my life? I was a little out of it the last time we spoke.”

“So I heard.” Jamie chuckled. “Is there anything you need? You must be a wreck. I’d be happy to come by your hotel with whatever.”

Morgan looked around. He needed everything, but he needed nothing at the same time. He still had a roof and four walls for now. He was alive.

He was alone, though, and didn’t want to be. That was the worst part about losing everything. No one would even acknowledge his existence anymore.

And Morgan didn’t want just anyone. He didn’t want his parents, and he didn’t want the shallow friends who’d abandoned him when he couldn’t give them access to Roman Patrick Companies, Ltd anymore.

He wanted Jamie.

Morgan could just ask, but that would mean confessing. It would mean Jamie seeing him as he was. How could he get what he craved without admitting how pathetic he was?

“I’d like a second viewing, actually.” He’d meant it to come out confident and suave. To his ears, which were admittedly biased, it sounded pathetic and craven.

He cringed and added, “You could arrange it with one of your agents, if you preferred.”

Jamie hesitated for a second. “I could do it,” he said. “I’ve got a thing in the morning, but I could be there in the afternoon.”

Morgan considered breaking into some kind of dance. Jamie was coming to see him again. “Fantastic. I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Awesome. See you then.”

Jamie hung up, Morgan grinned at himself in the mirror. Maybe he didn’t still have ‘it,’ whatever ‘it’ might be, but he was going to get to see Jamie again. That alone was enough fuel to keep him going.

He got dressed in gym shorts and headed into the other room to fix his one meal. It wasn’t much of a meal. There were no cooking utensils, no heat source.

Yeah, he could steal a Coleman stove or something, but he wasn’t willing to risk it. He didn’t want to get thirty years for arson because he’d accidentally burned down a house, or started a wildfire, trying to heat up a can of soup.

So, he ate his soup cold and tried not to dump it out just because of the taste. Someday he’d have reasonable food again. It wouldn’t be today or tomorrow, but someday.

He’d at least have a hot plate, and have warm food again. He tried to imagine it in place of the crap he was eating now.

Morgan finished his can of soup and got up to get rid of it. He’d toss it out into the brush later, so it didn’t attract vermin. Before he could go and take care of that, though, he heard a knock on the door.

For a brief, beautiful second he thought it might be Jamie. He and Jamie could spend the whole night together, in one sleeping bag, and wouldn’t that be something? But Jamie didn’t know Morgan was staying here, and he couldn’t have gotten up the mountain that fast anyway.

He blushed at his own stupidity and shuffled over to the door to see who’d come all this way, just to see him. He half-hid behind the door, using it as a shield. “Hello?”

His visitor was barely visible in only the light of the Coleman lantern. He was on the short side, with blond hair and piercing green eyes. “Morgan. Hiya. The name’s Titus. I work for the Captain. Mind if I come in?”

Shit. It had been a week, hadn’t it? Morgan had lost track of time when he’d been in the hospital. He swallowed, but opened the door. “Nice night,” he tried.

“It is, isn’t it?” Titus didn’t look like much. He was short, and he was skinny. He was also well dressed and drove a Mercedes. Working for Collins clearly had its upside, depending on what a person did for him.

“Can I get you anything?” Morgan was stalling, and he knew he was stalling. He didn’t know what else he could do at this point. Every muscle in his body was tense, like he could stop what was going to come. “There’s not much here, but I could give you … um, bottled water.”

Titus chuckled and held up a hand. “I’m good, thanks.” He glanced around. “It’s an interesting place you’ve got here. Very, um, rustic.

This off the grid thing is big these days. People are into it.” He licked his lips. “You know, working for the Captain has its advantages. You can usually afford some of the finer things in life. Flush toilets being one of them. I got a place downtown, and it almost never has scorpions in it.”

“Yeah…” Morgan let out a nervous little laugh and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “I don’t know, though. That seems aspirational.”

“Something to keep in mind. The Captain is good to the people who work for him. He’s not like these corporate bastards, right? He knows the guys out on the ground are where his money comes from. He’s a generous employer. Of course,” he continued, looking directly at Morgan, the shadows caused by the Coleman lantern giving his face an almost demonic appearance, “he’s only good to you if you do him right. You’d never do the Captain wrong, would you?”

“I’m a man of my word,” Morgan promised. His hands were shaking so he hid them in his pockets. “Sometimes things happen, though, things that are out of a person’s control.”

Titus chuckled and patted Morgan’s back. “Nothing’s ever out of our control, Morgan. That’s the first thing to learn about this business. Everything’s a matter of personal responsibility and personal entrepreneurship. And that means there are no excuses. Isn’t that right, Morgan?”

Morgan swallowed. “Right.”

“Look, you’re a smart guy. Went to Princeton and everything.” Titus kept a hand on Morgan’s back. His voice was almost a purr now. “You know why I’m here. It’s Sunday, it’s been a week, it’s time for you to pay for your product.”

Morgan closed his eyes and swallowed. This was it, the absolute end. “I, uh. Here’s the thing. I’ve got two-thirds of the money.”

“Two thirds? I thought you said you were a salesman.” Titus raised his eyebrows, but his tone was mild. He didn’t seem at all surprised that Morgan hadn’t moved all of the meth in time.

“I am. And I was doing pretty well, if I do say so myself. I mean, I don’t exactly have benchmarking studies on crystal meth sales in smaller cities in Nevada, but considering the challenge, I think I was doing okay.”

Titus yawned. “Get on with it. Where’s the rest of the meth?”

“I got mugged.”

“Mugged. Okay, sure you did.” Titus snorted. “And that car out there is a Volkswagen. If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing, would you?’”

“It’s the truth!” Morgan wondered if tears would get his point across. It’s the absolute truth. There’s a record. A police record, a hospital record, you can check. A little old lady named Sadie rescued me. There were these three guys, they were like rejects from a bad 80s glam metal video, they found me in the alley and thought I was some gun runner they knew of. They roughed me up — look, you can see the stitches on my head. And my hospital bracelet, not that I have any idea how I’m supposed to pay for that.”

“I’m pretty sure, kid, you’re not going to have to worry about repaying anything for very long.” Titus’ tone was probably meant to be reassuring. His words definitely weren’t.

“Anyway,” Morgan said, when he found words again, “they took what I had left in my pocket and the cash I had on hand. You can have all of that, even the profit.”

He went into his backpack and pulled out the cash, all of it. He briefly considered holding some back, but that would have been crazy.. Titus seemed to be too sharp to pull something like that over on, and he wasn’t going to be able to spend any money in this town until he’d paid Collins back with interest. There was no point trying to keep twenty or thirty bucks out.

Titus pursed his lips and counted the money, right in front of him. “Impressive,” he said, “ And I’m going to look into this story of yours. Just out of curiosity, was this little old lady about four feet tall?”

Morgan sagged with relief. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

“Hm. Okay. Well, here’s the thing. I like you, Morgan. And I believe you about the mugging.

Part of Morgan, the part of him that had grown up with servants and a bottomless bank account that could give him whatever he wanted, wanted to balk. He’d been mugged, for crying out loud! He couldn’t control what other people did.

The rest of him, worn down and abused by years on the streets, understood. “I’ve only been out of the hospital for a few hours. I’ll see what I can do about getting the rest of it.”

“I’m sure you will, Morgan. I’m sure you will. And if you can find it before the Captain gets around to it, that’s awesome. I’d recommend coming up with double what you think you owe, just as a gesture of your good faith.”

Titus put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan couldn’t see anything in his clear green eyes but honest concern. “I’ll put in a good word for you, but I can’t make any promises. You know how it is. Business is business.”

“Of course.” Morgan set his jaw. He could handle this. Even this much of a reprieve was more than he’d expected.

“And hey — if you can’t come up with the cash by the time the Captain comes looking for it, well, I’ll make sure it’s quick, huh? Can’t ask for more than that.”

Morgan made himself smile. His brain was screaming at him. What the hell kind of world have you slipped into where that’s a kindness? But he didn’t show any of it as he straightened up. “That’s all any of us can ask for.”

Titus patted his shoulder. “You’re a good egg, Morgan. If I can find any opportunities, I’ll let you know. Keep your head up,” he advised, and left the house.

Morgan watched him go. He was on borrowed time, and he knew it. He had no idea when Collins would show up, and the chances of him finding a thousand dollars between then and now were nil.

He was so screwed.