PROLOGUE
Crossed Paths
Marcel - age twelve.
In and out.
The guy said it should take no longer than five minutes. And he’d pay me fifty bucks.
In and out. Grab the lockbox the bikers keep stored in the garage and…well, I hadn’t thought it through much more than that.
All I knew was fifty dollars would buy a lot of groceries.
My mother hadn’t been home in days. Any food we’d had was long gone.
I’d be fine. School lunch got me through the day. But even if I were able to sneak some of it home to my baby sister, it wasn’t stuff I thought she should eat.
Besides, Blake’s mom wasn’t much better than my own—which meant there were three mouths to feed at my house. Blake didn’t expect me to take care of him. He pulled his weight in other ways. Heidi was good, but there was only so much watered-down cereal I could feed the kid.
There was no way I’d tell anyone my mother had disappeared. I couldn’t risk Heidi being taken away. This wasn’t the first time Mom had taken off. Eventually she’d show up.
At least I hoped so. There was always the possibility she’d run off just like my dad had a couple years ago.
It was up to me.
I’d already raked every last leaf in the neighborhood for a few dollars. I’d tried asking the creep who lived across the street if he needed any help around the house. Instead he’d told me about the bikers who’d stolen some stuff from him and offered me fifty bucks to get it back.
He was probably lying, but I really needed that cash.
Blake and I had narrowly missed taking a ride in a cop car after shoplifting food from the Price Chopper the other day. It’d be a while before I’d try to steal from there again.
“You got her?” I asked Blake, nodding to Heidi who was busy playing with a stuffed pony Blake had given her earlier. I hadn’t asked where he got it from. It made Heidi happy and that was all I cared about.
“Yeah.” He puffed out his chest. “I got her, but you sure it’s a good idea?”
“You got a better one?”
He shook his head, shaggy red hair falling over his forehead. Heidi climbed up on the couch next to him, waving a book in his face to get his attention.
“I’ll be right back.” Not a promise I was sure I’d be able to keep, but I said it anyway.
It was only late September, but the evening air had turned brisk. The wind kicked up and I wrapped my knock-off Carhartt jacket around me tighter. Not that it did much good.
“Kid!” the creep across the street called, waving me over.
“What?” I snapped, eager to get this whole thing over with.
“You got a weapon?”
“Fuck no. I’m not plannin’ to run into anyone.”
“Well, just in case, take this.” He handed me a cheap hunting knife way too big to fit in any of my pockets.
“Where the fuck am I supposed to put this?” I handed it back and he shrugged. “Where’s this box again?”
“In the garage.”
“Yeah, I got that. Where?”