‘Zit faced prick on a power kick,’ one of Esme’s pals muttered, loud enough for Harry to hear as he backed away.

‘It rhymes, it rhymes,’ another one added, and then they were all squealing with laughter.

Harry’s face turned red and he didn’t dare glance back. His skin had been bad for the past few months, and beautiful girls calling him spotty was a slug in the gut.

Two hundred bucks for the dermatologist, ninety bucks for a pot of cream and my face still looks like a pizza …

Anita smiled as she ran the other way. Harry’s deputy editor was skinny and had hands buried in her Queensbridge Athletic sweatshirt to fight the early evening cold. ‘Left my poster tube in the meeting room …’

Anita was Indian-American, super smart, super blunt and had a filthy sense of humour. Harry still felt bad that he’d snapped a no when she’d nervously asked if he wanted to go to the Christmas formal with her.

Harry’s phone rang before he found anything else to fuel his regret. It was the name he wanted to see and he trembled as he heard a familiar recorded message.

‘This is a collect call from White Boulder Juvenile Correction facility. If you wish to accept payment for this call, press one, followed by the star on your keypad.’

‘Charlie,’ Harry said after a mechanical clunk that he’d always assumed was something to do with prisoner calls being recorded. ‘How’d your hearing go?’

Charlie sounded like the whole world had landed on her head. ‘Life sucks,’ she groaned. ‘The two guys on the early release panel were fine. But it was the same woman as last time. Said she wasn’t comfortable. Because making alcohol showed I was still interested in chemistry, which showed I hadn’t learned my lesson. Plus, the fight I got in last week didn’t help.’

Harry shook his head. ‘Seriously? You already did an extra two months for making that batch of hooch. And the fight wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t the whole thing on CCTV?’

‘It has to be a unanimous decision to release me,’ Charlie said.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Harry said, staring at a darkening sky and the light haze from the Vegas strip, four miles away. ‘I wanted you to be out for Christmas …’

‘Actually,’ Charlie said, suddenly much brighter. ‘I just made all that up.’

‘Eh?’

‘Everything went fine. They’re releasing me to an Independent Living Facility in North Vegas on Friday!’

‘Holy crap!’ Harry gasped, punching the air with his free hand. ‘Really?’

‘I had you,’ Charlie laughed.

‘You’re mean!’ Harry said. ‘You’re really coming out?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ Charlie said. ‘I had to sit through this big lecture about following the rules at Independent Living and how they could send me back for the rest of my sentence if I screw up once.’