29
ANSON
“What the fuck, Anson?” Vincent muttered in my ear. “You trying to get us all busted?”
He pulled me back through the crowd of people so fast that I stumbled and nearly lost one of my shoes.
Even if I had, he wouldn’t have noticed.
He would have dragged me along anyway, like yesterday’s trash.
The detective on the loading dock watched all of this, her eyes never leaving me, not until Vincent jerked me around a corner and slammed me up against the brick wall.
“You may not give a shit about going back, but there’s no way in hell I will, so if you plan on making it easy for them to find you, you best pack your shit and get far away from here. ”
That might be the first sensible thing that boy has ever said, Champ. Pack a bag and go. Haven’t I been telling you the same thing? And that woman? She’s trouble. She got a good gander at you. You don’t want to run into her again.
Vincent twisted his fist around the collar of my t-shirt and nearly lifted me off the ground. “You hearing me?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I just wanted to—”
“Whatever is happening here is none of our goddamn business,” Vincent fumed.
“You think this is unique?” He glanced up at the market, at the Quick up above.
“You live this life and it catches up to you. Doesn’t matter where you are.
The streets will kill you. We’re here long enough to get a handle on where they took the girls, then we’re out.
That’s it. Don’t get wrapped up in this local nonsense; it has nothing to do with us. ”
“That detective pretended that kid didn’t have a hole in the back of his head, and you know he did. Why would she do that?”
The moment I said it, I knew I’d made a mistake. I expected Father to remind me what happens when you poke a bear, but even he said nothing.
Vincent’s face grew bright red. He looked like he might kill me right there. He glared at me for the longest time, then released my collar. “Let it go, you dumb shit. If you really care about finding Libby, you need to keep your head in the game.”
When he stepped away from me, I realized Twill had come up behind him. She’d heard everything. I expected her to blow up at Vincent, but instead, she looked past him to me. “Did you actually see a hole in Andy’s head?”
“Christ,” Vincent said with a frustrated breath. “The two of you . . .”
He stomped off, mumbling to himself. I had no idea where Paul went.
“He was a real ass back at Finicky’s,” Twill said. “It’s nice to see he’s changed.”
Best I could tell, Vincent was still an ass and would continue to be an ass. I must have appeared confused, because Twill shifted her weight to her back foot and rolled her eyes at me. “That’s a joke, Anson. Vincent said you were an emotionless robot. I guess he wasn’t kidding.”
“Vincent has enough emotion for all of us.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
I looked down at my shoes. “He was right to be mad. That detective saw me.”
“The woman?”
I nodded.
“Detective Gracie Moss.”
“You know her?”
Twill was still staring off in the direction Vincent had gone, and when she answered, I got the feeling only part of her was in the conversation; the other half had left with Vincent. “Not yet,” she finally said. “But I’m working on it.”
From the pocket of her jeans, she produced a slim brown leather wallet and showed me the driver’s license. The detective’s driver’s license.
“You lifted her wallet?”
Twill shrugged. “This is a dangerous part of town. She really oughta be more careful.”
Flipping through the contents, she found several credit cards and sixty-three dollars in cash.
Twill shoved the money and cards into her pocket and tossed the wallet and ID into a nearby dumpster before twisting on her heel and starting back down the alley.
“Come on. You know you want to see it . . .”
“See what?”
“The place where Andy was taken.”