“I will. But I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“After being threatened by Dean’s biker friends, I want to hide.”
“Wait a minute. What do you mean they threatened you? When? What did they do?”
“They stopped me as I was walking the back road, and a bald man with a beard told me he’d kill me if I kept his buddies waiting. He mimicked a handgun with his fingers and aimed it at my head. They were really pissed off that Dean had to stay behind and wait for me to close the diner.”
* * * *
It was eight o’ clock the next morning when I met Rocco on Thompson Street next to the middle school building and Milton Police Station.
I rounded the corner of Bridge and Genesee Street and my heart suddenly started thumping like a malfunctioning airplane propeller. Rocco was waiting at a stop sign at the end of the street. He looked nervous, kicking stones and plucking blades of grass.
I waved.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, standing and brushing dirt and grass from his hands.