Chapter 2

“Seriously? You just ran into me?”

“Seriously?” Billy mimicked. “You’re stealing my car?”

“I’m okay.” The cab driver’s declaration was muffled by the air bag that had blown his glasses off.

“You’re one to talk about stealing,” Tank Top cried.

“What are you talking about?” Billy asked.

The kid pointed a quivering arm at Shep. “He steals you, I steal your car.”

“You two know each other?”

“Grover Shepherd, Brant Mattachine,” Billy, ever the Southern belle, said by rote. Honking cars inched around them. “Brant, this is Shep.”

“Hey,” Shep said with a nod. Brant Mattachine snarled.

“What’s his deal?” Shep asked.

Billy shrugged. “We’re kinda hanging out.”

“You and this kid?”

“I’m not a kid, asshole.”

“He’s nineteen,” Billy explained.

“And a half,” the kid added.

“I hate to break it to you,” Shep said, “but if you’re still using halves, you’re a kid.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d rather rob the cradle than the grave.”