But since the Fiends didn’t grab the baby in question—and in fact have no idea how Moore got it—they’d all be comfortable feeding on the child. Even if it’s shared with a partner, that’s still six months of not having to hunt, not having to wonder where your next get-right is coming from, and not having to worry about being caught draining some rummy. Six months when you could get off the road and relax if you wanted to.

That’s why Antonia tells Elijah it’s only fair they make an exception to the rotation this time and allow everyone a chance at the jackpot.

“That won’t go over well,” Elijah says.

And he’s right.

“You can’t be changing how we do things whenever you want,” Real Deal says when Antonia has gathered everyone around the umbrella table. “It’s me and Yuma’s turn. We do the job, and the baby’s ours.”

“Right,” Yuma says. “Luck of the draw. It could’ve been any of us.”

“If you two weren’t up, you’d be begging for a chance at the brat,” Pedro says.

“But we don’t have to beg,” Yuma says. “Because the rules are the rules.”

Bob 2 tosses a beer can. Pedro shakes a finger in Yuma’s face. War’s about to break out. Antonia raps her knuckles on the table to quiet the shouting.

“We’ll take a vote,” she says. “Do we stick with the regular rotation, or do we give everybody a shot at the kid?”

Everyone but Yuma and Real Deal votes to make an exception. The pair sit there steaming, but what can they do? They’re outnumbered.

“How do we decide who makes the hit?” Bob 1 asks.

“We’ll roll for it,” Antonia replies. “One person per team. Winners do the job and get the kid, the rest split the money.”

Elijah grabs a pair of dice out of the domino box. They agree to let Yuma go first. She shakes the bones and tosses them on the table, gets a seven for her and Real Deal. Johnny rolls a nine, and Antonia throws a three for her and Elijah. Then it’s Bob 1’s turn. He whispers to the dice, blows on them, shakes them over his head. When he finally flings them, he gets two sixes.

“Boxcars!” Bob 2 shouts.

The party breaks up. Too much disappointment and resentment in the air. Everyone shuffles off to their rooms except the Bobs, who celebrate their good fortune until the first rays of sunshine, leaping over the horizon, chase them inside.

“See it?” Bob 2 says.

He points out a giant rat, a foot long from its nose to the tip of its tail. The beast creeps up on a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket lying in the gutter. Poking its head inside, it pulls out a half-eaten drumstick and rears back on its haunches to gnaw it.