The Devil's Only Friend by Mitchell Bartoy

brass lamp that sat by my chair. In this little hole I kept the key to the bank box that seemed to hold everything worthwhile I had managed to glean in my sorry life. The majority of it, I knew well, had been earned by my father. Since the lamp operated mainly with a switch on the wall plate, it was hard for anyone to notice that the key wouldn’t turn like a switch or that there was a real knob on the back of the base to let the juice through. I walked over, kicked my ottoman upright, and eased myself down into the chair. Because I had changed, the chair didn’t fit me like it had before; but I was able to relax because I could see that my key had not been discovered.
    Even though it was the middle of the day, I fell into something like sleep. My mind wandered over everything: my unlocked door, Federle’s woman, my mother’s garage, Jasper Lloyd’s foul breath. I don’t think I ever stopped rambling along like that—half awake—before a low knock on the door brought me to attention.
    I had stiffened up so much that I could not move from the chair.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    Muffled speech seemed to echo through the wood.
    â€œIt’s open,” I said. “Just come right in.”
    There was no answer, but now I could hear or feel the knocker’s weight shifting in the hall.
    â€œCome in, you ass! Come in!”
    I was seized by a fit of coughing that propelled me to my feet, crabbed over with my hands on my knees. The knob turned, the latch clicked, and the door opened a sliver. I kept hacking and gasping until I dredged up a rubbery clot of something from my lungs. I spat it out into my hand and noted that it was flecked with blood.
    â€œMr. Caudill?”
    I wheeled to see Lloyd’s slim secretary, James, standing timidly inside my door.
    â€œWell?” I said.
    â€œAre you all right, sir?”
    I stomped toward him so he could get a good look. He kept his horror pretty well hidden, but I was afraid he might slither back through the door, so I turned away and limped to the kitchen area.
    â€œYour jacket, sir,” he said. “It’s ruined.”
    â€œThat’s fine. I got it at St. Vincent de Paul’s.”
    â€œBut you’ve bled through the back. You’ve run off from the hospital.”
    â€œIt’s a bad habit,” I said, turning again toward him. “I do what I want.”
    He considered his words for a moment. “Mr. Lloyd wonders if you’re in any condition—”
    â€œI’m all aces,” I said, trying out my grin on him. “I’m peaches and cream.”
    â€œIf you’re in any condition to assist him further.”
    â€œYou can see what kind of shape I’m in.”
    The secretary had a neat businesslike timidity, and there wasn’t any reason to treat him badly. It seemed possible to imagine that he was a decent fellow in his private life.
    â€œWe can arrange for personal medical care,” he said. “A nurse—”
    â€œCan you get me some penicillin?”
    â€œI should think so,” he said. “I can send a nurse to look at the bandages. The stitches will have to be removed.”
    â€œAh,” I said, and then I swallowed and tried to clamp down on a blinding surge of pain that raked my sinuses. “Why didn’t you tell me that the girl was chopped up?”
    â€œWhat girl?”
    â€œLook now, don’t dummy up on me. Why didn’t you tell me about the girl at the Cleveland plant? Now this other girl—”
    â€œI’m not in a position to tell you anything, sir. I’m careful to perform within the limits of my function. I only keep things in order for Mr. Lloyd.”
    I knew it wasn’t any use bracing him—and I knew I wasn’t in any condition to play rough with anybody, even a secretary. For all I knew, James was a golden gloves champ. He’d go about flyweight, but I was already coming apart at the seams. I