A Body to die for

crawled onto his feet.
    “Don’t you dare sit down,” I said before he lowered himself into the cushy arm chair I keep for clients, the one piece of furniture I actually cared about. He stood upright and grimaced. He put a hand on his back and stretched. “I couldn’t take another minute in that cell,” he said. “And you were supposed to bring the money back that night.”
    “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall,” I said. “Clean yourself up and leave your clothes in the Dumpster in the hall.” I found Alex’s sheet in the file cabinet under B for boff. I threw it at him. “And fuck you for blaming me. I was busy getting my ribs broken.”
    “You got in a fight?” He seemed concerned.
    “Like you care,” I said. “Go, before I call the cops.” I searched in my desk for something Jack could wear. I found a pair of leggings—Gap black—and a T-shirt with tiny flowers on it from J. Crew. I also came upon a pair of rubber flip-flops I bought when Max and I went to Jones Beach one day last summer. I put sunblock on every inch of my alabaster (white, gleaming) skin, save for the tops of my feet. They got so sunburned that I couldn’t put on my Vans without dying a thousand deaths. Jack might have a masculinity crisis, but these clothes would have to do.
    While he was, I hoped, peeling off the top layer of his skin, I called for the Ikea bus schedule. We had an hour—perfect. Falcone would never look for Jack in Elizabeth, New Jersey. I’d keep him out of her clutches for the afternoon, but then what? Turn him in? Be done with him and this case? I flashed to the sight of his wild eyes when we found Barney in the Jacuzzi. Then Jack’s heaving body when he hurled. I would figure out what to do with my fugitive later. In the meantime, I put $2,500 in my office file cabinet under R for retirement.
    Jack returned from the bathroom with the sheet wrapped around his slender hips. His bare chest was dusted lightly with blond hair. I could have scrubbed my socks clean on his stomach. If I scrubbed socks. He lifted his hand to scratch his neck. I watched the sinew work in his arm. I said, “When’s the last time you gave Ameleth an unsolicited back rub?” I handed him the clothes. “Or cooked dinner for her?”
    He fingered my girly vestments. “I can’t wear this stuff in public.”
    “Afraid for your fans?”
    He seemed embarrassed. “I’m plenty romantic. Ameleth knows that. She just got distracted.” I wondered how Ameleth could get distracted by Barney after seeing Jack near naked. But, I supposed, Barney’s big money talk might pull green wool over anyone’s eyes. I considered telling Jack about Barney’s alleged pimphood, but reconsidered. Jack didn’t top my list of people to share confidences with.
    I fished around in my purse and gave Jack my pair of two-dollar Batwoman sunglasses. “Just get dressed and let’s go. We don’t have all day.” I turned away from him. He went behind my desk to dress in semiprivate.
    “I haven’t heard you congratulate me yet,” he said. “I was amazing in my escape, outfoxing those idiots at the police station. And once I was free, I ran and ran. Like the wind. I was loose, free, life in my blood. It’s exhilarating to break the law. I recommend it. The only bad part was having to hide out under the Brooklyn Bridge for a few hours. I had to lie down in some sludge. The mile sprint over the bridge at midnight was heaven. No one was around. I felt like the last man on Earth. I hope you don’t mind that I slept on your desk. You should really do something about that short desk leg.” What about hitting him over the head with it? I mused. “Where are we going?” he asked.
    “New Jersey.”
    “Good. No one who matters will see me in this getup.”
    Having grown up in the Garden State, I took this slight personally. “Would you rather we went back to Brooklyn Heights?”
    I heard him groan. “Wanda, these leggings are too tight,” he complained.
    I turned to look. The sight made me think of bunches of grapes in Korean deli fruit stands. “All the better to see you, my dear.” The T-shirt tugged across his chest, too. “You look like a tart,” I commented. “It’s Times Square, you’ll blend.”
    The homeless drunk was gone by the time we got downstairs. No one commented on my dress or Jack’s getup as we hailed a cab. We took it to Port Authority. I was careful to get a receipt. We picked our way through the throngs of Hare Krishnas