I open my eyes, but I still can’t see the guy’s face.

“How do you know?”

“His Gulf War tattoo,” he says. “The green dragon.”

He’s right.

Dale Foster has his hands clasped together behind his head in a way that flares his elbows out to the side, making his forearms visible, and the green dragon is looking at us through the window. The woman on top suddenly runs her hands through her hair and turns her head to the right. At that moment, I see enough of her face to realize she’s definitely Helen Dawkins.

Tank sees her too.

He says, “Wow. She’s pretty hot.”

Silence.

“It’s Huey’s wife,” I say, swallowing hard and looking away, somewhat shocked as the reality of it all sets in. Up until now I’d only seen pictures of her stashed away in Big Dale’s closet. But something about actually witnessing them together sends me to new lows.

“Huey’s wife?” Tank says, still watching but sounding concerned. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I watch Tank watching them. “I recognize her from a picture.” And that’s really all my best friend needs in terms of proof, because there’s no way I’m telling him about the three photos I found in the closet.

“My dad’s with Huey’s wife?” Tank says in disbelief. “A married woman?”

Another silence.

I don’t know what else to say to him. Truth is, we’re both pretty bummed out.

Tank punches the glass door. Hard. I can’t believe it doesn’t shatter.

Helen Dawkins turns toward us as the unmistakable face of Dale Foster appears just to the left of her torso.

Damn.

Tank bolts past me and hops back onto the roof before I can even react.

I follow, more worried about him now than I was in Mandy’s backyard.

When I reach the chimney, he’s somehow already made the dangerous return leap and is descending the bricks and ivy with little regard for his own body. By the time I summon enough courage to make the jump, Tank’s on the ground, running toward the front of the house.

I land hard. Pain shoots through my feet. I look toward the front yard and Tank’s nowhere in sight, so I run for the street, figuring I’ll meet up with him back home.

But that never happens.

I’m nearing the long driveway when I hear another loud, M80-like crack echo through the night.

Tank is shooting at something … or someone.