Beeks drove hard, heading south, in the direction of the cannery. His worried eyes filled the rear view mirror.
"What's goin' down, bro?" he asked Needles.
"The kid got shot," Needles replied from the back of the van.
"You're shittin' me… What kinda piece-of-shit son-of-a-bitch asshole would shoot a damn — "
"Shut up and drive," Souther said.
Needles carefully removed Aaron's ski mask and stroked the boy's matted hair back from his face. He tucked a folded duffel bag under Aaron's head and sprinkled a few drops of water onto his dry lips.
– The black van pulled into the cannery and skidded to a stop. Beeks jumped out and ran around to open the rear doors. Needles helped him take Aaron into his arms.
Souther dragged a leather briefcase out of the van and started for the door. "You should have left him," he said. "He's dead either way."
"Bring him into the break room," Needles told Beeks, ignoring Souther. "We have to move fast."
Beeks cradled the boy in his huge arms and followed Needles. "What're you gonna do with him in there? " he asked.
"I'm a doctor. What do you think I'm going to do with him?"
"What the hell you talkin' 'bout? You ain't no damn doctor."
Souther stepped out onto the sidewalk and rolled the big steel door closed behind him.