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It doesn’t occur to him to ask what helping would entail until Mikey gives him a sideways look. “Don’t think it’s the kind of help you should ask your brother for,” he says. “But thanks.”
Gerard tries to think of something he wouldn’t help Mikey do, but there’s nothing. He’d drive a getaway car, bury a body, even give him bone marrow, and he’s seen the needles they use to get at that shit. “There’s no such thing,” he says.
Mikey shrugs, picks up an ad for lipstick and starts tearing around the edge of the logo. “It’s kind of a sex thing,” he mumbles.