“Who?” a bewildered voice replied.
My attention snapped to the man standing a few feet away, one foot crossed over the other. My eyes narrowed on his thin frame and the way he clutched the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it down to cover his legs.
“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” I barked.
He jolted. “I was sleeping.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you pay my rent?”
I glared at him incredulously, and he flushed. He was no bigger than Haz and probably not much older.
“Where’s your neighbor?”
“Haz?” he asked, eyes darting past me to the door. “Why?”
“You mean to tell me you slept through everything that happened over there?” I said, instantly suspicious.He’s involved.
His lips parted and then snapped shut, eyes flying between me and the door. He took off running, slipping past me and across the hall. The second he got to the doorway ofHaz’s apartment, he stopped and gasped. “Oh my God! What happened?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
“Haz!” he called, rushing into the apartment and back to the bedroom. Clearly, he knew the way. “Haz!”
Appearing again, he declared, “He isn’t here.”
“No shit,” I spat. “Where is he? What happened here?”
He shook his head, surprise written all over his features. His eyes were gray. It was a suspicious color. “I have no idea.”
Lunging forward, I grabbed him by the front of the shirt and lifted him right off the floor. Surprised, his hands grabbed mine where it held him.
“I will ask you one more time,” I said through clenched teeth, pulling up the gun with my free hand and pressing it against his temple.
The flush drained from his cheeks, leaving behind remnants of a rash, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“I-I don’t know,” he said, eyes straining to the side as if he could see the gun. “I swear.”
I cocked the gun.
He trembled like a leaf, and though he clutched the hand holding him so hard that his knuckles were white, the grip felt terribly weak.
“I was asleep!” he shouted and then started to cry.
I reared back, not expecting the tears. I mean, sure, men had cried at my hands before. It was a tactic to avoid death. But he didn’t seem to be crying about the gun or even the threat of dying.
Fat, shiny tears slid down his cheeks as his lower lip wobbled. “I never should have taken that pill,” he cried. “But I was so tired. I just wanted a break from the pain.” A sob ripped out, and he hung his head. “If I hadn’t, I might have heard what happened. I could have helped.”
I dropped him on his feet, and he crumpled to the floor, shirt riding up to expose most of his thighs.
He swiped at his cheeks with his hands, sniffling. “He’s my only friend,” he said, gazing around, glistening wet tracks on his face. “Oh my God, is that a bullet hole?”
Fine.He’s not involved.
“Where would he have gone?”
Big, wet eyes looked up at me. “What?”
