The kid—his name was Roger, but he carried ID that said his name was Kevin—cautiously opened the door to the laundry room. Heated air that smelled of bleach surged into the stairwell. He heard the murmur of the dryer off to one side, broken by the occasional thump of something heavy hitting metal.
The sounds of pursuit had turned away at the first floor, heading out into the street. He slipped across the room, past the spinning clothes and through the doorway to the storage area. He counted cages, stopping at the fourth one to insert a key into a padlock. It took only a moment to move the boxes within aside and expose the door just where Dewey had said it would be. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath as relief took the flight out of his legs.
He’d wanted to trust Dewey, wanted
