"What the fuck are we doing here?" he asked.
"Our civic duty."
"This could all be avoided if you'd let me run her goddamn background."
"Fine. Do it. But I don't want to know anything. Keep it to yourself unless it's some shit you have to tell me." I opened my door and got out.
Bones watched me walk around the Hummer before joining me on the sidewalk. "But we're still going in?"
I nodded. "She asked me to volunteer with her. I need to at least see what she does."
"They'll never let you volunteer."
I chuckled. Sometimes my friend still underestimated me. "I'm already approved, Bones. We both are."
"What?" he asked. "How?"
"I created us identities, of course. You're Franco Johnson now, by the way. Don't worry, I'll still call you Bones, mother-fucker."
His jaw dropped. "Johnson? You couldn't come up with something better than that?"
Laughing, I pushed open the door and headed in.
We stopped at the reception desk and an older lady looked through her files until she saw our approved applications. I asked her about Markie, and she nodded.
"Yeah, she started volunteering here a few weeks ago. The kids really like her. She was here earlier, but went home with a migraine."
Disappointed, I thanked her and turned to leave.
A black kid holding a basketball blocked my path. His shorts and tank top looked about two sizes too big for him, and his sneakers had a hole in the toe. He dribbled the ball a couple of times and then cocked his head to the side and studied me, snorting like he was unimpressed. The kid had to be about ten, but packed at least twenty years of attitude.
"You don't know Markie," he said.
Who the fuck was he to tell me who I knew and didn't know? "Yeah I do. She's a friend."
He looked from me to Bones and snorted again. "Yeah right."
Getting more pissed by the second, I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Markie's tough. She's a baller and she don't take no shit. You? You brought your bodyguard into an orphanage. What are you scared of, rich boy?"
Bones snickered, and then covered it up with a cough.
Not about to let some punk kid talk shit to me, I said, "I'm smart, not scared. And how do you know I'm not a baller?"
He tossed me the ball and shrugged. "Only one way to find out. Prove it."
I caught the ball and glared at him. Bones's shoulders shook, and I knew my friend was trying not to laugh. Hesitating, I couldn't decide if I should take this kid to the court and kick his ass, or take Markie some flowers and a get-well card.
"That's what I thought," the kid sneered. "Just another lame-ass stick in a suit."
That did it. I tilted my head toward Bones and asked, "What do you think? We got time to straighten this kid out?"
Bones removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He flexed and cracked his neck. Then he leveled a stare at the kid and said, "There's always time to teach manners." He stepped forward.
The kid's eyes bugged out.
Hiding my laugh, I held out a hand to stop Bones. "Save it for the court, big guy. Where is your court anyway?"
