And then things got really strange. The girl wheeled around, her hair brighter than the streetlamp. As she turned, she cocked an arm and let the backpack roll off her shoulder in a powered arc. It hit the wet pavement with a muffled thump and skated hissing into the darkness. Right to my feet.

What the hell?

I stared at her, at the pack, and back again. Her breath came fast but even, and she held her ground as she eyeballed the approaching threat. After that first messaging glance, she never looked my way again. Not giving me up to the thugs? Radical. But she’d want something in return for such generosity. Time to play my part and be quick about it, if only I knew what it was.

She shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet. Impatient. Not with the thugs, surely. With me? Finally, I got it. I snatched up the pack and light-footed down the alley, hurdling puddles and brick heaps and broken glass, my pry-bar ready to hammer whatever might be lurking in the dumpster shadow.

The rusted bin was half crushed, but enough to hide me. A brief skittering as I poked my bar around. Whatever it was left. Couldn’t use my headlamp till I was well out of there. I hugged the pack like a shield and hunkered down to reconnoiter. The girl had planted her feet. Her face was in profile, but I was pretty sure she was grinning.

Was it the girl they were after, or her pack? Pressed to my chest, it felt soft but bulgy, obviously full. Snug, reinforced corners. Heavy-duty straps. Probably waterproof. My picker’s grab bag was a grad gift from my street coach, but it was stained, patched, and smelly by comparison. This high-quality item wouldn’t have been ditched my way unless it held something of interest, something the girl didn’t want the thugs to have, or something she didn’t want to be caught with.

So probably I didn’t want to be caught with it either, maybe shouldn’t bring it home to my den. I’d forgot to feel for wires like we were taught, but if she was tossing it around, likely it wouldn’t explode on me. Maybe I was meant to get on out of there and ditch it for her on the way.

I listened for clues in the sounds whispering along the alley walls. Snarled commands, the girl’s taunting replies, all in growls and murmurs, like they were trying to keep the volume down. More like a family argument than a mugging.

Okay. One more peek around the dumpster’s edge. What could it hurt?