Hersh had placed him in another alley. The area might be much better than downtown Los Angeles, but the garbage still smelled like garbage.

He thought it would be easier the second time around. Just the opposite. It was harder. He was vomiting more, sweating and shaking like he had the flu. Maybe he did have the flu. But he knew that wasn’t it. He’d felt okay until Hersh said they had to score again. Nothing—nothing about it was easier the second time. If anything it was harder because Hersh insisted that the gun be loaded this time. To prevent what happened last time.

Noam was about to ask why they would need a gun at all if Hersh was so sure that queers didn’t fight back. But the look in Hersh’s eyes—the glare of a mad dog about to attack—told him to shut up and keep his thoughts to himself. Besides, right at that point, he had to make a sudden run for the bathroom.

So now the gun was in his hands again, as slippery as ever. But now Noam didn’t dare drop it. It could misfire, blow off his leg.

God, why didn’t he just run away right now?

Why?

Noam thought, well, why didn’t he just do that?

Just pick up his legs and run away.

Do what Tanti Miriam told him to do.

Go to the police.

Even jail must be better than this.

Had to be.

But what about his parents?

They’d never forgive him if he went to jail.

They’d never speak to him again.

He shouldn’t have called Tanti Miriam and let her know he was in trouble. He should have waited it out and run away when he could.

Come home when he was safe, keep these terrible aveyrahs his secret. But now Tanti Miriam knew he was in trouble.

There would be questions.

But there would have been questions anyway.

Just run away.

Run now.

Do it!

DO IT!

He stood up from his crouch, his brain pounding against his temples. His legs felt as limp as noodles. Even though he felt as if he were about to faint, he knew he should run right now.

But it was too late.

He saw Hersh.

Saw the victim.

This one was tall, just like the first one.

This one was thick, just like the first one.

Hersh swore he’d get a smaller one. What was it? Did he have a wish to die?

Trapped.

One more time, Noam swore to himself.

This was it.

Take the guy’s money and then this was it!

One more time.

That’s it!

Noam jumped out, pushed the gun in the man’s stomach, said his practiced lines.

But again it didn’t go as planned.

Again there was a screwup.

The man didn’t react like he was supposed to.