“Can’t you remove it?”
“I don’t want anyone to steal it.”
Gizmo and Cipher both had an intense fear that someone would take their prostheses. Cipher usually slept wearing his in case there was an emergency in the middle of the night, and Gizmo stored his hand under his pillow. Artemis seemed less concerned about her arm, but I rarely saw her without it.
“I can hold onto it for you,” I offered.
He glanced up for the first time. “I’d prefer if Cipher did it.”
I didn’t blame him. I’d want Cipher watching my back too.
“What about Artemis?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t hurt someone to prevent a theft.”
“But Cipher would?”
He set down the watch he’d been working on and turned to me. “Artemis sees her arm as a tool that can be replaced. I see my hand as a functioning part of my body that is critical to my survival. Cipher feels the same way about his leg and would act accordingly.”
“Do you think someone might do that?”
“There are a lot of people in this city in need of hands.”
“Good point.”
I mulled it over, and decided that if the goal was to get Gizmo to shower, I was going to need to call in reinforcements.
“Cipher,” I said into the two-way radio. “We have a situation.”
He responded almost immediately. “What is it? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, but Gizmo needs a hand.”
* * *
Gizmo wasn’t jokingabout being protective of his prosthetic hand. He wouldn’t even let us keep it in the bedroom but insisted that we bring it with us into the shower so he could have eyes on it while he bathed. It smelled a little funky, and I hoped he planned to clean it too.
“He hasn’t showered since we got here?” Cipher whispered in my ear so that Gizmo wouldn’t overhear us discussing it.
“Nope.”
“I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad.”
“I don’t think he leaves his room very often either. And there was another situation this morning with Teresa.” I relayed the cake incident and the fight between her and Artemis.
Cipher shook his head. “We’ve gotta get out of here. I hope Macon is having better luck than me.”
I tried not to take it personally that he was so anxious to leave. This was their plan all along, one they made long before they met me. As if on cue, Macon rounded the corner of the bathroom, limping and red faced and snorting like a wounded bull. His clothes were dirty, his lip was split, and one of his cheeks was swollen too.
“What the hell happened to you?” Cipher asked.
“I got into a fight. Some shitheads tried to take my goddamned shoes.”
“Kids?”
“No, three grown-ass men.”
“The fuck? I told you not to get such nice shoes.”
