It was dark and he was starved. If he was going to leave to be on his own, he figured he’d do it on a full stomach. “Fine, Hannah. Let’s go back to your home and see your parents and eat your dinner that was prepared by your mom!”

“Stop making me feel guilty!” she yelled.

“Stop screaming!”

In a huff, Hannah headed for the car, but Gabe hesitated. “I want to look for the gun. It’s a bad idea to leave it for some kid or another motherfucker to find.”

Hannah stopped walking. “Good idea. I’ll help you.”

“No, I’ll do it. You turn the car around and shine the headlights into the bushes so I can see, okay?”

She complied with his wishes. When she realized it was taking a while, she got out and helped him search. They were both on their knees moving through brush that stank of trash, rotten food, and dog excrement. It felt positively yucky to be touching anything. “Maybe it wasn’t a gun, Gabe. Maybe he held you up with these disgusting chopsticks over here.”

“It wasn’t chopsticks, it was a gun.”

“And you know what a gun feels like?”

“You’d better believe it.”

She didn’t say anything. Sometimes it was best not to continue a conversation. A few minutes later, Hannah saw something glint. “What’s that?”

“Where?”

“Under that bush over to the right of the McDonald’s wrapper.”

Gabe dropped onto his stomach and crawled under a bush. “Good eye. Go in the car. I’ll get it out.”

“I’ll wait with you.”

“Hannah, in case it discharges, you shouldn’t be around. Just go in the car, okay?”

“I’ll stand back, but I’m not leaving you here alone.” It was bad enough being bossed around by her dad; she wasn’t about to take lip from a kid three years younger than she was.

“Fine, just move out of the way.” Gabe carefully extended his left hand under the brush. Of course, it had thorns. His fingers were normally very long but the swelling had turned his digits to sausages. Eventually, his fingers wrapped around the butt of the weapon and retrieved it from the brush. He stood up and carefully took out the magazine. “Nine-millimeter semiautomatic. That ain’t no chopstick, sister.” He stowed the gun in his briefcase, then tried to close the gate and winced.

“I’ll do it,” Hannah said.

“It’s heavy.”

“As long as it’s on the track, I can slide it. Just take care of your hand.” She closed the gate, locked it, then got into the driver’s seat and turned on the motor. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She had tears in her eyes. “I was just scared.”

“Forget it. I’m sorry if I scared you.”