“He took E, Dad. He's been doing E for a couple of days.”

E was one of the latest drugs of choice around DC, especially among high school and college kids at George Washington and Georgetown.

“Ramon hasn't been going to school?” I asked.

“No. He hasn't been going home either. He's been staying at a crib down by the river. It's in Capitol Heights.”

I knew the river area and I headed there with a red lamp on my car roof and a siren bleating. I had met Ramon Ramirez, and I knew about his parents: they were musicians, and addicts. Ramon played baseball with Damon. He was twelve. I wondered how deeply Damon was involved, but this wasn't the time for questions like that.

I parked, and Damon and I walked into a dilapidated row house down near the Anacostia. The house was three stories and most of the windows were boarded.

“You been in this place before?” I asked Damon.

“Yeah, I was here. I came to help Ramon. I couldn't just leave him, could I?”

“Was Ramon conscious when you left him?” I asked.

“Yeah. But his teeth were clenched together and then he was throwing up. His nose was bleeding.”

“Okay, let's see how he is. Keep up with me.”

We hurried down a dark hallway and turned a corner. I could smell the stench of garbage and also a recent fire.

Then I got a surprise. Two EMS techs and a doctor were in a small room; they were working over a boy. I could see Ramon's black sneakers and rolled-up cargo pants. Nothing moved.

The doctor rose from her kneeling position over Ramon. She was tall and heavy-set, with a pretty face. I hadn't seen her around before. I walked up to her, showed my badge, which didn't seem to impress her much.

“I'm Detective Cross,” I said. “How is the boy?”

The woman focused hard on me. “I'm Kayla Coles. We're working on him. I don't know yet. Someone called nine-one-one. Did you make the call?” She looked at Damon. I realized she was the doctor Nana had talked about.

Damon answered her question. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Did you take any drugs?” she asked.

Damon looked at me, then at Dr. Coles. “I don't do drugs. It's dumb.”

“But your friends do? Do you have dumb friends?”

“I was trying to help him. That's all.”

Dr. Coles' look was severe, but then she nodded. “You probably saved your friend's life.”

Damon and I waited in the bleak, foul-smelling room until we heard news that Ramon would make it. This time. Kayla Coles stayed there the whole time. She hovered over Ramon like a guardian angel. Damon got to say a few words to his friend before they took him to a waiting ambulance. I saw him clasp the boy's hands. It was nearly two in the morning when we finally made our way out of the row house.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded, but then his body started to shake, and he finally began to sob against my arm.