Still, it terrified her. It reminded her of the monstrous storage tank in Little Hell—the constant fear of flames or explosions, the vast darkness of the vacant lot surrounding the tank, and rumors of the scores of bodies buried there. Like Bricktown, which bordered Riverview. Until a few years ago, Ikie had told her, plumes of black smoke rose into the sky from kilns, each as big as a house. The kilns had burned night and day: if the wind shifted, fairy floss would melt in your hand.

Here in the tunnel the air smelled cold and chalky, the way she imagined a cave would smell. Large white balloons with skull faces bumped against unwary heads in the boats ahead of her. Spotlights flickered on and off like lightning. Front and back, the nearest boats seemed a safe distance from her own, forty feet or more. Far enough that courting couples could grab a few minutes alone in the dark. Far enough for her to carry out her plan, such as it was.

She stared into the tunnel nervously. She’d seen a drowned cat here once, as bloated as one of the misshapen fetuses they kept in jars at the freak show. From behind her came the unmistakable sound of a slap, followed by muffled sobs. Her boat drifted on, pulled by the current along a curving stretch with no other boats in sight.

Pin remembered this part of the tunnel—the first time she’d come here, she’d nearly jumped out of her skin. But now she knew what to expect. She held her breath and waited for the boom of a thunder sheet, followed by the blinding white flare of a flash pot. In the split second that followed, she jumped from the boat.

She landed on the narrow ledge that ran alongside the canal. Her foot slipped on the slimy surface, but she caught herself before she tumbled into the black water. As the thunder faded into ripples of nervous laughter, she scrambled behind a pile of fake stalagmites.

She had only ten minutes before her empty boat shot out of the tunnel, into the stagnant pool that served as a holding area. Horace would yell at Moe to demand why there was an empty boat, and Moe would tell him it was Pin’s. If Horace caught her, he’d slam her against the wall, the way he’d done Mugsy when he tried to steal one of the skeletons. She ducked as the next boat drifted past, the couples inside kissing so passionately they never noticed her. As they receded into shadow, she glanced around.