Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

"Dude?" Wolverine whispered more desperately. "Now! Let's history, man. We gotta get out of here."

Darth shifted. And: clink, clink.

"Jesus, quiet!"

Darth set the backpack down carefully and rearranged the cans of red spray paint, put a T-shirt between them. Hoisted the canvas satchel once more.

"Really, man." Wolverine wasn't exactly living up to his nickname. But Darth was patient with his friend. The bitch got freaked a lot. And, church, Darth was a little tweaked at the moment too, with some asshole prowling around, getting closer.

But he was leader of the crew and he now commanded, "Chill."

Wolverine nodded.

Okay, he was a pussy but he also was the one who'd spotted somebody coming through the park.

Sure, they ought to leave. Darth didn't have any hassle with that idea. But they fucking couldn't because the fucking Jew had found the bikes and rolled them into his garage. Just after they'd tagged the wall, and got over the fence out of the yard, some bitch from across the street had come out and started screaming, stop, what're you doing, how hateful and who did they think they were...

Blah, blah...

They didn't want to get seen so they'd run in this direction and hid in some bushes, watching Goldshit come out, spot the bikes and cart them away and--fucker--throw them into the garage.

Then the flashing lights.

And now the footsteps.

Who? Goldshit? The woman who'd snitched?

But why would they be here? No, it probably was a cop. And if so they'd be armed with a Taser and a Glock and one of those big fucking flashlights that could cave your head in. When Darth had been in juvie, he'd celled with a kid whose head'd been caved in by one of those.

Footsteps getting closer but still half a basketball court away.

"Why're we waiting?"

The why was something Darth didn't have the time--or the inclination--to explain: that if Darth's dad found out his bike was gone, out would come the branch and Darth'd get bloody.

Closer. The probably cop was moving slow but headed in their exact direction.

Darth nodded toward a garden shack at the back of Junipero Manor.

They slipped closer to the lopsided structure and crouched between it and a tangled bush. The cop didn't have a flashlight out. Just was walking slowly, stopping, listening. Playing it cautious, as if the dudes he was after were stone-cold. Anybody who'd sneak up to a house and write DIE JEW with a fat-ass swastika on it probably was.

And, yeah, Darth thought, guess what? We are.

Totally stone-cold...

Darth whispered, "Got an idea. I'm going to lead 'em off."

"But you'll...what're you gonna do?"

"I'll head that way into the park, make some noise or something and then you can run."

"Yeah? What'll happen to you?"

"Nobody can touch me," Darth whispered, mouth close to ear. "Track and field, remember? I'll be fine." Darth's father had made sure he'd gotten trophies in every event he could in T and F (it'd be the branch if he didn't).

"You cool?"

"Yeah." His friend's green eyes looked uncertain.