Jury of One by David Ellis

for you?” she asked.
    “Yeah, lady, what the fuck I been sayin’? Guy like me, I ain’t got no protection. Ain’t nobody gonna care if I go disappearin’ and shit.”
    “What police? What are their names?”
    “Lady—I need help. I need you to hide me.”
    “I can’t hide you,” she said, feeling the tone of her voice soften. What could Shelly do for this boy? He couldn’t stay with her. She didn’t have the cash to put him up, and even if she did, for how long? Until trial? If this boy was being straight with her, he wouldn’t last that long. She would need to get him held as a material witness.
    Jerod Romero, the federal prosecutor. That was the person she needed to call.
    “I can get you protection,” she said. “But probably not until tomorrow.”
    “Damn.” He wasn’t responding to her. The boy was shivering—could be his nerves, or it could be because he was in his underwear on a cold night.
    “I have a gun,” she repeated. “Remember that?”
    “Yeah, I remember.”
    She threw out the sweatshirt and pants to Manuel. “Put those on,” she said. “You can come in for a minute.” She couldn’t very well send this boy back on the streets.
    Her alarms were going off—this was everything she told her students in self-defense
not
to do.
    She opened the door and let Manuel pass her as she clutchedthe door, looking down the staircase. She closed the door again and directed the boy to the couch. He looked silly in a baggy sweatshirt and pants that didn’t even reach his ankles. He looked the part of a junkie, skinny frame, drawn face, eyes and mouth wet and red, his hair mussed and greasy, prominent body odor. He looked around Shelly’s apartment with some fascination. This was how normal people lived.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “Man, I don’t know.”
    “You’re safe here.”
    “Lady, you don’t know what you’re messin’ with here. Cops can go anywhere, see. They can do any fuckin’ thing they want.”
    “I’m going to talk to someone who can help you,” she said. “Protect you.”
    “When?” he asked, still standing, moving on the balls of his feet. “Now?”
    “Tomorrow,” she said. “You can—I suppose you can stay here tonight.”
    “Nah, man.” He looked around. “Not tonight, lady.”
    “Why not tonight?” she asked. “You think they’ve followed you?”
    “Man, you’re helpin’ Alex, right? You don’t think they’re watchin’
you
?”
    Dread filled Shelly, an enveloping poison. She went to the front window and looked out but saw nothing.
    “Nah, I’m comin’ back later.”
    “No,” said Shelly. “I need your help. At least let’s talk awhile.”
    “Man, I gotta stay mo-bile.” The boy walked in circles. “I gotta get lost.”
    “Manuel, I guarantee I’ll get you protection. I guarantee it.”
    “Tomorrow,” he said weakly.
    “Tonight,
I’ll
protect you.”
    Manuel sighed and laughed. “No thanks. Tomorrow.”
    “Please.” Shelly moved in front of him. She could not be sure she would ever see him again.
    He brushed her aside and went to the door. “Sorry, lady.”
    “You’ll come back tomorrow, though,” she said.
    He smiled at her without enthusiasm. He seemed to be telling her there would be no tomorrow.
    She went to the door and took his arm. “I swear I’ll protectyou. Stay alive tonight and find me tomorrow. Wait.” She went to the kitchen, ripped off a piece of a notepad, and scribbled her cell phone number. She stuffed it into his hand. “Take this. Call me anytime. Wherever I am, I’ll come find you.” Shelly unlocked the chain and started to turn the knob, but kept the door partially closed. “You trusted me enough to come here. Trust me—”
    It hit Shelly the moment she felt the outside force on the door, a barreling weight pushing her backward. They had used the boy to gain access without breaking and entering. They knew enough to know that, from her view above, the awning obscured them next to the outside