“That’s a goldmine right there, Ramsey. It has all the beer you could ever want. That door’s the only way in and out. Nobody out front ever sees what you’re up to, but you can see out to the main floor through the glass doors the customers use. You’ll know when the time is right to make a heist.” He pauses. “There’s food inside, too, beef sticks and lunchmeat. Find a few customers you can trust, and you can make a little side money selling them beer. Don’t tell more than a few people, though. You’ll probably get busted if you do.”

There’s a silence.

Then I say, “I can see taking a pack of cigarettes or two, or even a bottle of whiskey, but how do I steal a case of beer?”

“It’s simple. After you empty the returnable carts for the last time, just before closing, you take a cold case from the cooler—has to be cans, bottles make too much noise—and put it in the cart. Cover it with all the empty bags and broken down cardboard and put it all in the Dumpster.”

“What if Huey or a cashier checks the cart when I take it out?”

“If you hide it right, they won’t.”

“Has anyone ever been caught?”

“Not that I know of. It’s foolproof.”

“Man, how come Justin never told me about any of this?”

“That’s just how it is here with the stock boys. You don’t get the knowledge unless you’re one of us. I didn’t know any of this stuff until the guy who trained me filled me in. Plus, knowing Justin, he doesn’t want you to drink as much as he does.” He pauses. “Your brother can pound some serious beer, Zach.”

“It’s a talent that runs in the family.”

Brandon laughs. “He ever say anything to you about why he quit playing football?”

“No. You?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “God, he was so good. It’s really too bad he dropped it.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “All I know is that it had something to do with Horton.”

“Horton?”

“Yeah. Ever hear any rumors about him?”

“No. He comes in here sometimes. So do a lot of the assistant coaches. They’re all cocky bastards, big bodies with pea-sized brains. Do they act that stupid during practices and games?”

“Pretty much,” I say, laughing. And here I decide to make a play to see if Brandon Watkins knows anything about the juice in Blaine, either back when Justin played or right now. “I’m always on the bench,” I say. “I’d get more playing time if I could put on weight.”

He sizes up my scrawny frame and nods. “You’re skinnier than me. I didn’t think that was humanly possible.”