“Check the apartment,” Johan said to him, one hand still clasped beneath Kitty’s jaw. “Don’t mess anything up. If you move something, put it back.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll meet you at Jink’s.”

Ruben nodded and started toward the bedroom, stepping over Kitty’s splayed legs. Johan stroked his braided beard, made a disappointed clicking sound with his tongue, then hoisted Kitty to her feet.

“Okay, Kitty, time to go.” He pointed at the box on the table. “Bring your birthday present.”

“Please, Johan . . .” In a high, cracked voice. “Don’t do this . . . I can . . . can . . . please.”

He pushed her. She stumbled, fell to her knees.

“Bring your present, Kitty.”

“No, please . . . please don’t—”

“Bring it!”

Kitty nodded, tears spilling from her eyes. She placed the lid on the box and picked it up, gathering it beneath one arm. Johan gripped the back of her neck and urged her toward the door. Before leaving the apartment, Kitty grabbed her skateboard with her free hand, an automatic action. Walking down the stairway and out into the night, she clutched it to her side. A familiar thing. A comfort.

A black SUV rumbled curbside. Johan opened the back door and pushed Kitty inside. She spilled across the seat, feeling Angelo’s severed head roll inside the box and bump against the sides. Nausea swelled from the base of her stomach. She gagged and coughed as Johan climbed in beside her.

Xander was behind the wheel. His hair had been shaved to a dark fuzz, short enough for Kitty to see the tattoos on his skull.

“Jink’s,” Johan said to him.

The SUV pulled away. Kitty’s neighborhood scrolled inexorably beyond the window. It was Passion Hour, she noticed, the sky peach-colored, the buildings painted warmly, the fan palms drawn in jagged silhouette. Kitty locked her skateboard between her knees and moaned.

Silver Lake became the Hollywood Freeway, then Interstate 110, then Compton. Post Malone played on the stereo—music Kitty had always enjoyed, but now it sounded mocking, tortuous. Darkness fell across the city like a coffin lid.

“You know what this is about, Kitty,” Johan said. She wasn’t sure if it was a question or not.

“I only took a little—a line every now and then.” Kitty touched his arm and he shook her off. “For auditions, mainly. I swear.”

“That so?” He took out his phone, opened Instagram, not interested in her excuses.

“Please, Johan, please. I’ll . . . I’ll pay for what I took.”

“You’re damn right.”

Kitty pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead and screwed her eyes shut. Nothing made sense. All of this for a few pinches of canary? And Angelo? Jesus Christ, what did any of this have to do with Angelo?

Something bigger was at play here. A deal gone south? An all-out drug war? Kitty had no idea, but she had been swept into the middle of it.