Alone, however, was a different matter.

He knew he’d been burning not a candle but a torch at both ends for months. With one hard slap of fate he’d gone from living for Phillip Quinn to wondering what had happened to his cheerfully upwardly mobile urban lifestyle.

His father’s death six months before had turned his life upside down. The life that Ray and Stella Quinn had righted seventeen years ago. They’d walked into that dreary hospital room and offered him a chance and a choice. He’d taken the chance because he’d been smart enough to understand that he had no choice.

Going back on the streets wasn’t as appealing as it had been before his chest had been ripped open by bullets. Living with his mother was no longer an option, not even if she changed her mind and let him buy his way back into the cramped apartment on Baltimore’s Block. Social Services was taking a hard look at the situation, and he knew he’d be dumped into the system the minute he was back on his feet.

He had no intention of going back into the system, or back with his mother, or back to the gutter, for that matter. He’d already decided that. He felt that all he needed was a little time to work out a plan.

At the moment that time was buffered by some very fine drugs that he hadn’t had to buy or steal. But he didn’t figure that little benefit was going to last forever.

With the Demerol sliding through his system, he gave the Quinns a canny once-over and dismissed them as a couple of weirdo do-gooders. That was fine with him. They wanted to be Samaritans, give him a place to hang out until he was back to a hundred percent, good for them. Good for him.

They told him they had a house on the Eastern Shore, which for an inner-city kid was the other end of the world. But he figured a change of scene couldn’t hurt. They had two sons about his age. Phillip decided he wouldn’t have to worry about a couple of wimps that the do-gooders had raised.

They told him they had rules, and education was a priority. School didn’t bother him any. He breezed his way through when he decided to go.

No drugs. Stella said that in a cool voice that made Phillip reevaluate her as he put on his most angelic expression and said a polite No, ma’am. He had no doubt that when he wanted a hit, he’d be able to find a source, even in some bumfuck town on the Bay.

Then Stella leaned over the bed, her eyes shrewd, her mouth smiling thinly.

You have a face that belongs on a Renaissance painting. But that doesn’t make you less of a thief, a hoodlum, and a liar. We’ll help you if you want to be helped. But don’t treat us like imbeciles.

And Ray laughed his big, booming laugh. He squeezed Stella’s shoulder and Phillip’s at the same time. It would be, Phillip remembered he’d said, a rare treat to watch the two of them butt heads for the next little while.