I flopped back on the bed, my head landing on the pillow.

“And I do?”

“Well, yeah. I know you. You know me. You know the cops. I figured you could vouch for me.”

I stared up at my ceiling, shook my head. “What did you do?”

“Sort of trespassing.”

“Stop using the words ‘sort of’! What kind of ninny gets arrested for trespassing?”

“Trespassing with a crowbar and a glass cutter?”

I waited. There was more. There was always more with Jung. I also knew that whatever the more was, I wasn’t going to like it. I closed my eyes, breathed in, preparing myself.

“At the police station,” he added.

I bolted up. Crowbar. Glass cutter. Police station? “Jung, why on earth would you try to break into a police station?”

“They wouldn’t let me see Tim’s file. I thought I might be able to find something they missed, and figured if I could sort of sneak in and . . .”

“Where are you?”

He paused. “The sign says ‘Area Four Headquarters’? It’s . . .”

I slammed the receiver down with Jung still talking, then sat there for a time, waffling. Not my problem, I thought. Not my deal. I turned the lamp off, determined to go back to bed, then quickly turned it back on again and began rummaging for my clothes, some on the chair across the room, some on the floor.

“Damn.”

I shimmied quickly into a pair of jeans. I didn’t know anyone at Area Four anymore. I found my phone and sent Ben a text asking him if he had a contact. I was snaking into a T-shirt and looking around for my shoes when my phone pinged back. He knew a guy. Detective Sammy Hicks. I sent back a hasty thank-you, and then went back to looking for my shoes. I found one and stomped my right foot into it, not bothering with the laces; the other I had to get on my hands and knees to find. A crowbar? Really?

My phone rang. I answered. It was Ben.

“What do you need Hicks for?”

“He pinched an acquaintance of mine for trying to break into Area Four using a crowbar and a glass cutter.”

A beat passed. “Are you high?”

I found my other shoe. “He just called. He wants me to vouch for him.”

“Seriously, what are you on?”

“It’s Jung from the diner.”

“That weirdo kid in the clown clothes?”

“That’s him.” I grabbed my bag from the dresser, headed for the door. “He won’t last five minutes in lockup.”

Ben sputtered. “No shit. So what are you going down there to do?”

“I’m going down there to wring his neck.”

Chapter 8

Chapter 8