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relationships are for suckers. He might be right. I’ve never been able to keep a man in my life.
    “I found a place but I need a co-sign for the apartment application. The on-the-books money I make isn’t enough to convince the landlord I can make rent and I won’t make rent without the job.”
    “Should’ve thought of that before you left Kerr’s, Tiny.”
    I shift uncomfortably on my stool. I don’t want to go back to see Ian and not for any reasons associated with Malcolm's situation. Ian Kerr is a danger to me. The only way I will stay safe is to maintain distance. In a city this big, with our massive economic differences, that should be pretty easy so long as my mother's health doesn't rest on a return visit.
    “Sophie’s pretty sick,” I tell him. “She wants to stop the chemo and just . . .” I can’t say it. These last four weeks have been rough. “I need that money, Malcolm. If we had an elevator and she could go outside for a few minutes, it would make all the difference in the world.”
    “Get Kerr to sign the papers then.”
    “He said you’ve sent three others to him and he’s turned them away.”
    “Did he?” He shovels more food into his mouth.
    I'm getting frustrated. “What is the big deal?”
    “Don’t know,” Malcolm mumbles around some food. “But I figure if I had his signature on something, I could blackmail him in the future.”
    “Jesus, Malcolm.” I hiss an indrawn breath. “What the hell? That sounds like a quick way to get yourself dumped in the East River.”
    “Back at ya, sis. You’re a fucking hypocrite. You’re always busting my chops like working for me is totally beneath you, but you sure like the dough.” He pushes me another padded envelope and a wad of cash wrapped in a rubber band.
    “It’s for my mom,” I protest.
    “Please, save your situational morality for someone else. We all got mommy problems.” Malcolm scoffs bitterly. “Get Kerr’s signature and I’ll get you any damn apartment you want.”
    There’s nothing else for me to say. I choke down the rest of the food even though I’m not hungry anymore. Returning to Ian’s place after he wrote “Fuck You” on the papers seems like a lost cause.
    Malcolm’s other packages need to be delivered to the Upper East Side, and it’ll take me a while to get there. I pause for a moment to appreciate that my last delivery for Malcolm is close to home. He’s not always bad, I guess.
    I drop off the package at a million dollar townhouse two blocks off Fifth Avenue near the Guggenheim. The guy who accepts it comes out with mussed hair and lipstick all over his collar. I didn’t even know that happened in real life. Thought it was all an old wives’ tale used to scare men away from cheating on their partners—although from the looks of this guy, not an effective one. He empties the package right in front of me, shaking out a vial containing six pills and a sleeve of condoms. Ecstasy. I shake my head. Talk about stupid fucks. You start having sex on Ecstasy and it’s hard to back off.
    “Tell Malcolm thanks,” the customer says.
    “Will do.”
    He slips me a ten-dollar bill and winks. “You ever get bored, come on back and try these out with me. I’m always up for new blood.”
    I try to keep my lip from curling because this is one of Malcolm’s customers and I’m being paid to overlook lewd come-ons along with the illegality of the packages.
    “Thanks, but I’m taken,” I lie. “My boyfriend’s kind of a Neanderthal.” I glance furtively around as if I’m being followed. “He doesn’t even like if I talk to other dick.”
    The customer leans out and looks around as well and then, after a moment of indecision, scurries back into his townhouse and shuts the door.
    I head home. My feet feel more leaden the closer I get to my apartment. Every day I dread coming home. Seeing her in pain is excruciating, but there’s always the possibility that the goodbye kiss I received that morning