We’re supposed to be heading out soon to go pick up Tom. But for the moment, that obligation can wait.
Spencer walks out of the store, and I’m still keeping tabs on him. Rather than return to his car, he heads down an alley between the corner store and another shop. He’s nervous, glancing over his shoulder every couple steps.
Yet he’s too much of an amateur to realize hedoeshave reason to be anxious—I’m following him.
Another college-aged guy appears from behind a dumpster, hood up despite the sunny weather. Their exchange is awkward, Spencer forking over cash and the hoodie guy passing over a baggie of weed. Both of them give furtive glances like cops are gonna materialize from thin air.
Hoodie walks off quick. Spencer turns to leave, and I move in.
His face flattens in immediate alarm as he sees me rushing toward him, but it’s too late to do anything. I’m too fast and too strong.
I slam him back against the brick wall, my arm barring across his throat. Before he knows what’s happened, he’s now pinned into place like a mouse trapped by a hawk.
The baggie of weed slips from his hand, and he goes so pale he almost becomes translucent.
“Oh shit! Oh shit!” he repeats in a shrill panic. “I’m sorry, officer! First time, I swear! I wasn’t—please don’t arrest me, man!”
I press harder against his windpipe, leaning in close enough he can see himself reflected in my aviators. “I’m not a cop, kid.”
His eyes go wider, if that’s possible.
“You should fuckingwishI was a cop,” I growl, teeth clenched. “Because then you might walk away with all your parts intact.”
“What—I—” He’s practically hyperventilating, drawing desperate breaths into his lungs and trembling on the spot. “Take the weed! Take my wallet! Whatever you want, man, just please?—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I bark at him, pressing harder and cutting off his words with a wheeze. “Only speak when I tell you to. Understand?”
He nods frantically.
“You live with Kel Greene?”
“I don’t… I don’t really get mixed up in Kel’s stuff; whatever he’s into, that’s on him, I swear?—”
“What did I just say?” I slam him against the wall again. His head bounces off the brick. “Shut up and listen. You live with him; I know you do. So that means you know about him. Where is he? Why can’t I find any record of him at your school?”
Spencer’s shaking so hard, it wouldn’t surprise me if he soon pisses himself. “K-Kel’s… that’s not… that’s not his government name. J-just what he goes by.”
“And what would the real one be?”
“H-he’s a junior, named after his dad who bailed or something, so he doesn’t?—”
“I don’t give a shit about his daddy issues. What’s his real name and where is he?”
“Ma-Martin! Martin Greene Junior!” he blurts out desperately. “He’s gone for two weeks. Visiting family in Houston I… I think.”
“You think or you know?”
“I know, I know!” he says as I rattle him some more by the front of his shirt.
Houston for two weeks. I file it away, then slam him against the wall one more time for emphasis. His teeth click together.
“You better not be lying to me, Spencer. Because if you are...” I let the threat hang, then lean in close enough our noses almosttouch. “I know where you live. I know where you go to school. Trust me when I say you do not want me coming back to find you.”
“Ye-yes sir. I’m not lying! I swear!”
I release him and he crumples, sliding down the wall. The baggie of weed sits forgotten on the ground as I walk away, leaving him gasping and shaking in the alley.
Martin Greene Junior, otherwise known as Kel by his friends.
