Crash Pad Read Free Page A

community. Simon had sounded happy to help “a fellow wayfarer” out.
    Dr. Marshall swung into the motel driveway and halted near the office. “Okay. You want to give this guy Simon a call? I’d like to brief him.”
    “That’s not necessary, Dr. Marshall.”
    “Remy. I’d like to make sure you’re set before I go.”
    “Okay…Remy.” Jamie wasn’t at all sure he wanted Remy sharing medical information with Simon, but it wasn’t like any big secrets would be revealed. With luck, Jamie’d be out of here within the month, in a real apartment of his own, meeting people his own age. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
    “Hello?” The Doors’ classic “Riders on the Storm” played in the background.
    “Uh, Simon? It’s Jamie.”
    “Hey, neighbor.” Simon gave a high-pitched giggle. The music dropped off. “You’re here. You’re here. You’re here.”
    “Yeah.” Jamie shifted in his seat. For a typically quiet guy, Simon seemed a little wired.
    “Be right down.”
    Remy got out of the car and strolled around to the passenger side. Jamie lowered the window and said, “He’s coming down. From the third floor.”
    “Okay. Where’s the elevator?”
    “There is no elevator.”
    Frowning, Remy gripped the door frame, peering down at him. “So how did you plan to manage the steps?”
    “I can do it.” Crutching up and down the stairs would be a great upper body workout, assuming Simon didn’t murder him in his sleep. Jamie pulled the door handle, and Remy stepped back.
    Beyond him, Simon came into view. “Hell-o, neighbor!”
    Holy Healthcare, Batman . The sedate accountant had undergone a transition. On a couple of occasions Jamie had wondered if Simon was a closet case, but this was weird. Simon wore tight running shorts and a T-shirt that read, Accountants do it by the numbers . The shirt ran out of fabric before it covered Simon’s rotund gut. Was that a wad of lint in his belly button? Jamie winced. Some things you just didn’t want to see.
    “Simon Larimer, this is Dr. Marshall. Remy, this—”
    “I’ll take it from here, doc.” Simon shuffled Remy aside.
    The distinct odor of alcohol perfumed Simon’s ensemble. Jamie wrinkled his nose. Intoxication wasn’t an attractive look on Simon. In fact, it was downright disturbing. “Uh, Simon? We don’t really know each other, and I don’t want to upset your routine—”
    “It’s fine. You’re fine. What’re neighbors for? I was just kicking back. Just don’t throw up.”
    “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” Maybe? No maybe about it.
    “Sure it is.” Simon leaned in, onion breath tickling Jamie’s ear. “We can get better acquainted.”
    The earth screeched to a halt on its axis. Was he serious? Jamie gulped.
    Simon waggled his eyebrows.
    Oh, God. Abort! Abort!
    “Mr. Larimer.” Remy’s hand appeared around Simon’s elbow and tugged him back. “Mr. Sutton needs very particular care, and he’s not feeling well.”
    Jamie tilted his head and caught Remy’s gaze. I’m not?
    Remy’s eyebrows shot up, and he nodded.
    Except for the ankle, he didn’t feel bad. Oh . “Right. I’m not feeling too hot.”
    “That’s what I’m here for, friend.” Simon squirmed—like a toad—in Remy’s grip. Simon’s brain appeared to be squirming as well.
    “Jamie’s stomach is worse than I thought,” Remy said, staring at Jamie.
    Mustering every bit of skill, Jamie mimicked dry heaves. “ Urk, urk , gonna…blow…”
    Simon jumped back. “I don’t do vomit.”
    “I think I better get Mr. Sutton back to a medical facility.” Remy swung the passenger door shut. He walked around to the driver’s side and spoke over the roof of the car. “Thanks for your offer, Mr. Larimer.”
    Shuffling backward onto the sidewalk, Simon nodded, palm plastered to his mouth.
    Remy slid into the driver’s seat, reversed, and steered into traffic.
    Jamie leaned back, resting his head. “Thanks.”
    “Welcome.” Remy shook his head and