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Then Snowy spoke up, “Why are you guys doing all of this?”

“What do you mean?”

Snowy sighed, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Taking me somewhere for questioning or whatever. Why are you guys doing this?”

Jun didn’t have answers for her. He wasn’t the one who’d be asking the questions. But watching her sit there, cuffed and confused, scraped at something in him. Whatever she’d done or hadn’t done, she hadn’t asked for this.

“If you’re worried, I can promise you this,” he said. Snowy glanced up at him. “They won’t hurt you.”

“It’s about the drug, right?”

“Something like that.”

Jun checked his mirrors and eased the Vanquish into the right lane. Their exit was two miles away.

“What’s so special about this drug anyway?” Snowy sighed, resting against the headrest. “I have nothing to do with this.”

“That’s fine. But that’s not the main reason why they’re taking you in for questioning.”

“Then what is it for?”

He glanced sideways. Snowy was watching him, her eyes red-rimmed but calm. He looked back at the road. “A lead,” said Jun. “What you know is important for everyone involved. Right now, you are our best lead.”

The exit ramp curved beneath them, and Snowy spoke again before the silence could settle. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?” Jun asked.

“You said everyone involved has something important they want to know. So, what is it that you want to know?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

Jun took a deep breath. The music changed to another song, a slow acoustic guitar rendition of “You’re Mine, You.” The sweet voice of his mother calmed his nerves, giving him courage to confess. He wished he could have told his mother this instead. But something about Snowy’s question and the vulnerability of letting him speak his childhood language made it feel like it was safe for him to do so.

“I want to know what happened to someone involved in all of this.”

“Who?” Snowy asked.

He turned the car onto the main road towards Sunshine Hills, his voice softening. “Someone that meant everything to me.”

22

Snowy

A clatter echoed through the garage.

Alex looked up from the workbench to see Ken staring at the white lawn chair on the ground as if it had personally offended him. He bent down to pick it up. It slipped and hit the concrete again with a hollow bang. Ken’s fist clenched at his side. He looked like he was biting back every word he wanted to say.

“Yo,” Alex called from the workbench, wrapping rope around his hand and pulling it taut. Ken jerked his head up like Alex had materialized out of nowhere. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ken breathed. He reached for the chair again, got it halfway up, and then let it drop with a frustrated shove. He threw his hands up.

Alex pulled the rope in between his hands and kicked his discarded wig aside as he walked over to Ken.

“Look, I got this,” Ken said, raising his hands as if he was going to catch Alex’s punch.

Alex bent down, grabbed the chair, and set it up with one hand. He straightened and looked at Ken.

Ken’s jaw worked, his shoulders locked tight. “I told you, I got this,” he muttered, adjusting his glasses without meeting Alex’s eyes.

“No, man,” Alex argued back. “You don’t. You—”