"I need to talk to you," I say. Low enough that only he hears. I don’t want to wake Liam up.
Harry puts his glasses on. Studies my face. Whatever he sees there makes him sit up immediately.
"Not here," I say.
We slip into the hallway. It's still Quiet Time, which means the corridor is empty, guards stationed at the ends. They can’t leave the room, but, as a leader, I can. We find the alcove near the bathroom, the dead spot between two cameras. I know every blind spot in this building.
"I want Garrett gone. Not just punished. Gone. Transferred to real detention. Off this campus permanently."
"And you need me because..."
"Because a beating is a write-up. Maybe solitary, maybe a transfer, maybe not. Griff might keep him here with restrictions. It's not enough." I hold Harry's gaze. "But drugs, that's automatic. That's real jail. No appeals, no second chances. He'sout."
Harry stares at me for a long moment. Then he looks away, at the floor, and does something I don't expect. He takes his glasses off and cleans them on his shirt. Slowly. Like he's thinking.
"Garrett's a piece of shit," he says. Quietly. Not performing. It’s rare to see him like that. "Liam didn’t deserve that. Nobody does."
I'm caught off guard. Harry doesn't do sincerity. But right now, he looks like what he actually is, a twenty-year-old kid who heard about his roommate getting beaten half to death and didn't know what to do about it.
The moment passes. His smirk returns, and he's Harry again. "So you want me to make sure Garrett's holding when Griff searches his room."
"I want you to make sure there's no doubt."
"He's already got a stash. I've sold to him before. Pills, mostly. Some powder."
"I know. But I want it to be enough that there's no gray area. Enough that Griff has no choice."
Harry is quiet. He runs a hand through his slick black hair, pushes his glasses up again. The calculation is happening, I can see it. But it's different from what I expected. He's not weighing the profit.
"What's in it for me?" he asks, but the way he says it is strange. Almost like he's testing me. Like he’s going to do it either way. I could offer to stop policing his operation. But something about the way he looked at the floor thirty seconds ago makes me try a different approach.
"You owe me, Harry," I say. "Every time you dealt out of our room, every stash I found and didn't report, every time I looked the other way, you owe me for all of it. I never called it in. I'm calling it in now."
His jaw tightens. He knows I'm right.
"And I'm not asking you to do this for me," I say. "I'm asking you to help Liam. You were there when he got here. You watched him try to figure this place out. You played cards with him. You shared your cigarettes with him. You dragged him off to smoke weed, which was stupid, but you did it because, deep down, he was hurting and you were trying to help him in the only way you know how." I pause. "So help him now. For real this time."
Harry stares at me. His expression cycles through something complicated, annoyance, resistance, and then something underneath both of those that he'd probably rather die than name.
"Jesus Christ, Ethan," he mutters. "You don't have to give me a fucking speech."
"Is that a yes?"
He's quiet for another beat. Then he pushes off the wall and straightens his glasses.
"Yeah. It's a yes. But not because of your little guilt trip." He points a finger at me. "Because Garrett is a psycho who jerks off in the showers while staring at people, and the world is better off with him in a cage. And because Liam is..." He stops. Shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "He's alright. He's annoying as shit, but he's alright. He doesn't deserve what happened to him."
Coming from Harry, that's a love letter.
"And," Harry adds, smirk creeping back, "Garrett got some cash I can use before he’s out of here. So, it's not like I'm doing charity here. Let's not get carried away."
There he is. I smile.
He extends his hand. I take it. His grip is firm, his palm dry. I can’t believe I’m actually going to startlikingthis guy.
"I'll visit Garrett tonight," Harry says, back to business. "Friendly check-in. See how he's doing. Bring him a care package,pills, a bag, the works. He won't say no. He never does. Guy's got a habit worse than mine ever was." He grins. "By tomorrow morning, his mattress will be a pharmacy."
"It needs to be somewhere they'll find it fast. Under the bed frame."
