Chapter Fifty-Eight

Detroit, Michigan

March 10

Nineteen years ago.

M iles steered the old Schwinn into the driveway, relieved both cars were gone. He had forgotten the folder with his homework sheets. The Man didn’t want Miles there during normal hours; he wouldn’t like Miles appearing in the middle of the day. When he inserted his key in the side door lock, nothing clicked. He turned the knob, and the door opened smoothly. It wasn’t like them to forget to lock the house.

Miles stepped into the mud room. His room. The sleeping mat was rolled and stored in the corner, and his school books were arranged neatly in a cubby. After grabbing the folder he needed, Miles considered stealing a snack from the kitchen. He dismissed the idea; The Man had set a small camcorder up on a curio shelf by the door. “Don’t think you’re gonna sneak in here and steal my food. I’m watching you, kid.” He was just about to leave when a loud clank had him turning back.

Miles peered through the paned glass door and spotted a man. He was old, maybe forty, and slim, wearing coveralls and a ball cap. Miles took a step back, and the man looked up. He opened the door and smiled at Miles. “What are you doing here, buddy?”

“I forgot some school stuff.”

The man nodded his understanding. “I used to come up with some crazy excuses for why my homework wasn’t done. I was a real delinquent.”

“What are you doing here?” Miles asked.

“I’m with the gas company. Paulie’s got a leak. I’m fixing the leak.”

Miles wasn’t a fool. They’d run from the mobsters chasing The Man before. Plus, The Man didn’t go by Paulie. Miles had only heard his wife call him that. He was about to mention it when he spotted the gun, equidistant between them, sitting on the counter.

“Go ahead, kid. I dare you.”

Miles took a step back. The repairman smiled and turned to the sink. After removing a thick pinky ring, the guy washed his hands. Miles could already smell the sweet, putrid smell of gas.

When the man turned to the paper towel roll, Miles swiped the camcorder on the curio shelf, unplugged it, and dropped it into the open backpack at his feet.

“Christ, that smell makes me woozy.” He turned to the stove, gathered his tools, and dropped them into the open canvas bag. Miles slid to the sink, plucked the thick gold ring from where it sat on a sponge, and pocketed it.

The man turned and steadied himself on the counter. “You gonna go for that gun?”

“No, sir.”

“You sure? You’re closer than me now, and I gotta tell you, I’m a little high from the fumes.”

Miles shook his head.

“Smart decision. Never play the ace up your sleeve when you have a winning hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s life advice right there. So get lost. Forget everything you’ve seen. We clear?”

“We’re clear.”

“Oh, and kid?”

“Yeah?”

He emptied the bullets and slid the weapon across the counter. “Take the gun. I need to get rid of it. Shot a cop, so don’t use it.” He peeled a twenty off a wad from his pocket. “Throw it in the river.”

Miles felt the surge of excitement. This was wrong, but for once, he was the one profiting. He put the gun and the money into his backpack.

“Okay.”

“Good. Now get back to school before you get detention or whatever the fuck they do to kids now.”

Three hours later, Miles felt the explosion from his seat in the public library five blocks away. He knew instantly what it was. He hadn’t warned The Man or his wife and felt no remorse. For three years, he had lived like an unloved dog.

When the few other people in the room had wandered to the windows to watch the smoke-filled sky, Miles scooped up his backpack and walked to the office to find Miss Anita. He hoped she would help him, but even if she didn’t, being alone was better than the life he’d had.