"How'd it go?" he asked as he walked in.
"She talked. Given her condition, I doubt she had much choice in the matter."
He looked at my expression and murmured, "Shit."
He paused, as if he should say something. I waved him into the living room.
"So, I'll, uh, talk to you later?" he said.
When I didn't reply, he said, "How about I get your phone ...?" He trailed off as he caught my expression. "Or not."
He got three steps away. Then he stopped. Paused. Reached into his pocket and took out a notebook with a pen hooked on the cover. He jotted something on a page and ripped it out.
"My number. I know it'll probably go in the nearest trash can, but I'm not walking away without giving it a shot." When I reached out, he held on to the note and met my gaze. "I'm sorry you didn't know what was going on here. I thought you did. You should have."
I nodded, and he released the paper. I tucked it into my pocket as he headed into where Desiree waited.
Gabriel came out almost immediately.
"Ready?" he said.
I gave a curt nod and opened the door.
I'd planned to wait until we got in the car to confront him. I made it as far as the stairwell.
"That was a really shitty thing to do," I said.
"Get answers?"
"You know what I mean. Desiree wasn't that mellow because you hired Ricky to perform stud service. I worked at a clinic and a shelter. I know what people look like when they're high on heroin. You gave drugs to a recovering addict."
"No, I simply asked Don Gallagher to help persuade her to speak to me."
I stopped. I waited for him to turn around. Face me. Confront me. He just kept walking down the stairs. I hurried to catch up.
"You told him to offer her drugs."
"I did not. I explained the situation. If that was the route Ricky chose, it wasn't at my request."
"But you knew what he'd do. You provided drugs to a woman who's trying to turn her life around. It's like seeing someone step onto a ledge and giving her a push."
He stopped now, turning to face me. "That's a little dramatic, don't you think?"
"No, I don't. I've seen women like Desiree. Women who finally get clean. And in my experience--"
"Ah, yes, your experience." Icy sarcasm seeped into his voice. "Your experience, Olivia, is that of a privileged young woman who mingles with the masses for a few hours a week and presumes to understand--"
"Excuse me? I worked my ass off, putting in full-time hours--"
"I mean your work with addicts. I'm presuming you have no training in it. No personal experience with addicts."
"No, but--"
"So your time spent with them likely worked out to a few hours a week, in a charity setting, where the addicts would be on their best behavior, saying all the right things, because it was the only way those services would agree to help them. Of those who did stop their drug use, how many do you think stayed clean once they got what they wanted from you?"
"I--"
"Let me tell you a few things about addicts, Olivia. They lie. Consistently. Expertly. Pathologically. They lie to anyone who comes between them and their next high. They'll pretend to quit. They may even actually quit. But it's a sham. At the first opportunity, they will start using again. Anyone who believes their commitment to self-transformation will be disappointed over and over until they finally wise up and stop hoping."