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I watch as Brandy pulls up a map on her phone, her eyebrows drawn together. “Probably too far away. Time?”

“Uh . . . six thirty-eight this morning.”

Brandy checks the clock and shakes her head. “No good, even if they were donors we’re past the four-hour beating-heart limit, and that’s not allowing for travel time.”

“Travel time?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I know what she means.

“Yeah, for one of those poor bastard’s hearts to come to us,” Brandy says, nodding toward Layla’s screen. “Next.”

“This one looks promising,” Layla says. “Shooting in the suburbs, one dead, one in critical condition. Younger guys in their twenties.”

Brandy tilts the tablet toward her. “Does it say where the dead guy was shot?”

“Reynoldsburg.”

Brandy smacks Layla lightly in the back of the head. “No, like his body.”

“Uh . . . it just says gunshot wound.”

“Assume chest then,” Brandy shakes her head. “No good. Got the name of the guy who was in critical?”

“Lawson Harris.”

“Spell the first name,” Brandy directs Layla while she taps out a text.

“Who are you texting?” I ask her, but she shields her phone away from me.

“Friend of mine at the DMV,” she says. “He can tell me if this guy is an organ donor.”

I glance at Layla, who is scrolling for more fatalities. “Isn’t that kind of illegal?”

“Probably more than kind of,” Brandy says, tapping her phone when it buzzes in her hand. “Nope. Not an organ donor. Next.”

In my waistband, my own phone vibrates.

From Heath

Coming to see you today after school.

Oh boy.

I have a twinge of regret after I send the text because I need a favor from him.

Hey could you bring me my clarinet that’s at school? Cage 22 Combo 9-15-5. Don’t want to get rusty.

Sure.

“That your lover?” Layla asks.

“Ex-boyfriend,” I correct her.

“Where we at here?” Brandy nudges Layla with her fake foot, but Layla minimizes her news feed.

“I got nothing. Just the two on the highway and the guys who got shot.”

“Slow day,” Brandy says, tossing her phone aside. “So how screwed up are we?”

“Very,” I have to admit, but there’s a methodology at work here that appeals to me, an arrangement of facts and figures that my bored brain reaches for. I mentally scan the available information, looking for holes.