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said.
    “Yeah, well, we always hurt the one we love, don’t we?” Jackson asked. He went
    over to the bed, put a hand to Dáire’s shoulder and then thought better of trying to
    wake him. Instead, he bent down, wrapped the unconscious man’s arm over his back
    and hefted him up in a fireman’s carry.
    “You got a car outside, baby?” Chesty asked.
    “Uh-huh,” Jackson said, staggering a bit under Dáire’s dead weight.
    “I’ll get the door for you.”
    Jackson really didn’t want to be seen with the disreputable woman, but he had no
    choice. He could smell her, and the stink of semen clung to her like a cheap perfume.
    That—combined with another odor he didn’t want to think about—made his gorge rise.
    Her large, bare feet slapping against the cheap linoleum floor would have been
    laughable if it hadn’t been so pitiable.
    “He’s quite a man,” Chesty said as she followed behind Jackson. “What’s his name,
    anyway?”
    Jackson grinned. “Brighton,” he said. “Brighton Boyd.”
    “Oh!” Chesty said, recognizing the name. “I thought I’d seen him somewhere
    before! Must have been on television. He’s the city councilman, ain’t he?”
    “Ah, yeah,” Jackson lied. He nodded toward his car, trying to look around to see if
    anyone was observing him on the street.
    Chesty hurried forward and pulled open the back door of Jackson’s sedan. She
    stepped back as he gently delivered Dáire inside, folding him on the seat like a sleeping
    child.
    “You’ll want to watch that he don’t choke on his own puke,” Chesty warned.
    “He’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle him and be done with it,” Jackson said from
    between clenched teeth. His back was killing him from the exertion and the weight of
    Dáire’s body.
    “Sure wish a man loved me like he loves the star,” Chesty said wistfully. “That’s all
    he could talk about.”
    “Well, I hope you find someone like that one day,” Jackson said, and hurried
    around the front of the car. He lifted a hand to the woman. “Thanks for your help and
    tell Darnelle thanks too.”
    From across the way, Star Kiernan watched Jackson drive away. Tears were falling
    down her cheeks as she sat in her car on the other side of the street. The sight of Dáire
    being brought out of the tawdry strip bar draped over Jackson’s shoulder made her
    heart hurt in a way it hadn’t ached in a long, long time.
    19
    Charlotte Boyett-Compo
    * * * * *
    The concierge of the Farraige helped Jackson take Dáire up to his condo. Discreet
    and accustomed to being asked to do some rather odd things for the residents, Joel
    Brubaker made no comment about the unconscious man. He was there to help and,
    upon opening the door for Jackson, stood just outside the entry, awaiting further
    orders.
    “Thanks, Joey,” Jackson said. “Catch me tomorrow, will ya?”
    Joel nodded. “There’s no need, Mr. Jackson. I’m only too glad to be of service.”
    “Yeah, well, college isn’t cheap, is it?” Jackson asked, knowing the young man was
    attending classes during the day and working the nightshift at the Farraige to augment
    his tuition.
    “No, sir, it isn’t,” Joel agreed, and reached for the door handle, pulling it closed
    behind him. He went to the elevator, and when it opened started to enter, but upon
    seeing the other resident of the top floor in the cage, stepped back, putting a finger to
    his temple in greeting. “Good evening, Miss Kiernan,” he said.
    “Good evening, Joey,” Star responded, stepping out of the elevator.
    “Mr. Cronin is in residence again, ma’am,” Joel informed her.
    “Yes, I know. Thank you, Joey.”
    Saluting her once more, Joel stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the
    lobby floor. He lifted a hand to Star in farewell as the doors closed.
    Star stood in the center of the foyer and stared at Daire’s door. A part of her wanted
    to go to him, to help Jackson take care of him, but another part screamed at her to