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Chapters (57)
  1. Welcome to the Game
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraphs
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. Six months later . . .
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. Back Cover

Getting sick in America costs. Even if there are no guarantees and the patient—the name, the number—doesn’t make it, the doctors and hospitals still have to be paid. If the healthcare provider deems the prognosis—the prognosis of the name, the number, not the beautiful boy running and falling in the grass—bad, then they can suddenly become . . . unforthcoming.

What Max was going to do next could well cost him the pension and comfortable retirement he’d worked hard for.

In a couple of hours his son’s wife was going to be home. Max would drop his grandson off and say his goodbyes. But he wasn’t going home to get ready for his shift. He was going to drive a half dozen blocks west into the University District, a quiet and respectable neighborhood but not so well-to-do that its residents have to know what all their neighbors do for a living. A man lived in the University District who wanted to pay Max a lot of money for a favor. He was charismatic and persuasive, to be sure. It would amount to no more than ten minutes’ work. Max had been wavering, but now he’d made up his mind. Ten minutes’ work and forty thousand dollars. The man didn’t know that Max would sell his soul for all eternity for a lot less these days. How times change.

28

28

Three, Two, One

Spencer felt everything about Child Protective Services up in Madison Heights was unimaginative. The building looked like a city architect had phoned in some specs and they’d got to work. Where the hell were the windows? He’d asked the receptionist if she could turn up the air-conditioning. She’d said the levels were preset.

Not for a heat wave.

He needed a smoke and coffee. His head ached more than usual.

He still didn’t know what had made Lonnie go all hard-ass. This was bullshit! He was done with CPS. Nothing ends well. Just accept it was fun while it lasted and move on. Did she want to take her perpetual singledom out on the guy who’d been using her as a booty call by laughing at his floppy dick? If that was the case, then she was going to be sorely disappointed. The Viagra he’d taken before he and Abby left Chris’s was going to make sure of that.

His crotch ached, as it had done for the entire journey to CPS that morning. He felt his dick pulsing as they waited at the light on Conant and 8 Mile. So hard, like it had been cast in stone. It had been awkward getting out of the car.

Back in the game.