Roger went to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, I'm goin' up to the roof with Mark to film the sunset. Come up when you're ready, okay?"

"Okay, I just gotta dry my hair."

Roger picked up his jacket and bolted down the stairs. He only had a few minutes, but that was all he needed. The Man waited in the familiar alleyway. They made a quick exchange and parted ways again. Roger wished he had a needle but knew he didn't have time to shoot up. He needed to make this quick.

Back at the loft, Maureen emerged from the bathroom and went to grab her purse from the bed. Wait—the bed? Hadn't she left it on the nightstand?

"Swear I must be losing my mind," Maureen mumbled to herself. She could've sworn, too, that she'd zipped it shut.

She grabbed her jacket and went up to the roof. Mark was filming the sunset, as Roger had told her, but seemed alone.

"Where's Roger?" she asked.

"Huh? He's supposed to be downstairs with you."

"No, he told me that he was coming with you to film."

Mark sighed. "Son of a bitch…"

Maureen followed him down the stairs. She wanted to reassure him, but a growing knot in her stomach told her Mark's suspicions were right.

They didn't bother checking the loft. As they stormed down the stairs, Mark stopped on the landing.

"Did you cash your paycheck?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

"Check it."

"What?"

"Check and make sure it's there," Mark said, hating the bitter tone his voice had taken.

Maureen pursed her lips together, but searched her purse. She pulled out a wad of cash. Mark watched her count it once, then a second time, and a third.

"That's impossible. That's impossible," she mumbled.

"What? What is it? Is it all there?"

Maureen shook her head. "I'm short almost a hundred dollars."

Mark ignored the anger rising in his stomach. He raced down the stairs with Maureen trailing behind him. They found him in the alleyway beside the building. He lay on the pavement, bruised and dazed, but conscious. His hand clutched something. Maureen knelt at his side.

"Roger? Baby, what happened?" she asked.

"N-nothing. Nothing, I'm fine."

"Where's the money?" Mark asked, staring down at him.

"What money?"

"The money from Maureen's purse."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit. Where the fuck is it?"

"Pookie, maybe—"

"No, Maureen, we're dealing with this now. I want to know what the hell he did with it."

Roger groaned. "I didn't touch it."

"You think you can stand?"

Roger nodded and let her help him up. He still clutched something in his hand. Maureen shot Mark a warning glance and shook her head.

"Not now," she mouthed.

Mark tightened his jaw, using every ounce of restraint he had to listen to Maureen.

"Come on, let's get you home," he said.

Maureen helped Roger as best as she could, one arm around his waist. Mark led the way, not speaking to or looking at either of them. Maureen didn't ask what had happened and didn't care to guess. She knew any guess she made was probably right. The whole way to the loft, he kept his fist clenched into a tight ball.

When they were home again, Mark unwound his scarf and dropped it onto the couch with his camera. Roger sank into the rocking chair. Maureen doubled back to the door and locked it.

"Where is it?" Mark asked.

"Mo, would you please tell him—"

"I'm not asking her, Roger! I'm asking you. Now what did you do with the money?"

Roger glared at him. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"What's in your hand?"

"Nothing."

"Roger, show me what's in your hand. Now."

"Fuck off."

Roger started to stand up. Mark slammed him back down into the chair and forced his hand open. What he lacked in size, Mark made up for in sheer willpower and speed. Something fell from his hand and Mark stooped to pick it up. Roger's arms went around his, forcing Mark to the ground.

"Stop it! Roger! Mark! Both of you, stop it!"

"Give it back! It's mine!"

"Fuck off! You're not doing this! Not again!"

Maureen shouted at them to stop, knowing they wouldn't listen. Mark lay on the ground, shoving at Roger. She crossed the room to the phone and dialed Collins.

"Hey, Collins? It's Maureen."

"Hey, girl. What's up?"

"I-I think you need to come home."

"What's going on? Sounds like World War Three over there."

"Sort of is…there's—it's just…the money and he seemed fine and then…"

"Maureen, calm down. What happened?"

"I think Roger's using again."

"I'm on my way."

Maureen hung up and went back to her roommates, still wrestling on the floor.

"It's mine! Give it back!"

"No!"

"Damn it, Mark! Give it back!"

"You're not doing this!"

"Fuck off! It's my life!"

Mark slapped him across the face, hard. The sound alone brought tears to Maureen's eyes. Never had Mark raised his hands to Roger. The slap stunned Roger. He pulled back, anger flushing his cheek more than the red handprint.

"So that's what you wanna do?"

Mark slammed him to the ground, straddling his hips and pinning his shoulders down.

"You son of a bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are?" Roger screamed, struggling to free himself. He threw Mark from him and punched him in the jaw, knocking his glasses from his face.

"Stop it!" Maureen yelled.

She ran up behind Roger and grabbed his arm. "Knock it off! Both of you!"

"Let go of me, Mo!"

"No! You both need to knock it the hell off now!"

"Fuck off!" Roger yelled. He kept Mark pinned with one hand and shoved Maureen away with the other.

"Keep your fucking hands off her!" Mark shouted, punching his face.

The door to the loft slammed open.