Chapter 29

His boy now had a protector. He barreled through the narrow streets of Trenton’s older and seedier neighborhoods, he even rode the shoulder. There was a building revival near the ballpark and the capitol, but it had not made it to Clinton. He leaned on the horn, passed on the right, and it felt like it took forever, but he arrived. What met his eyes was like a hammer to his gut.

His Brian was in the center of what looked like a street gang. Time distorted. In slow motion, Donald down shifted and popped the curb as his eyes took in the three James brothers surrounding Brian with baseball bats and tire irons behind their backs. The boy was tied to a hook hammered into the pole of a streetlight to keep him upright. The harsh rays of a late summer afternoon reflected on a long sharp shiv. Egged on by an old woman in ragged plush bunny slippers and pink sponge rollers, they were cornering Brian.