And here he was now.

Rashiv glanced up and, terror in his eyes, he saw Donnie and Wes walking right toward him. They were on Lighthouse, the main commercial street in Pacific Grove, and plenty of people were around so the kid didn’t think he was going to get lashed but he still looked plenty scared.

“Yo, bitch,” Donnie said.

Rashiv nodded. He was a way skinny little guy.

“Whatchu up to, bitch?”

A shrug. “Nothing.” Looking for a place to run, just in case Donnie decided to lash on him even with people around.

Wes, just looking at him with this blank expression.

“Hey, Wes.”

No response from Wolverine.

Rashit said, “Haven’t seen you for a while. I called.”

“Busy.”

Donnie said, “You been busy too, Rashit?” It was funny how a question could be both friendly and threatening.

“Sorta. Yeah. You know, school.”

Wes said, “What’s that?” Squinting at a book the boy was carrying.

“Just some manga.”

“Let me see.”

“I don’t—”

Wes lifted it away.

“Come on, please!”

Wes blinked in shock. He said, “Japanese edition of Death Note—it’s signed by Ohba.”

Shit, Donnie thought. Holy shit. One of the best, kick-ass manga comics of all time. And signed by the author?

Donnie said, “I figured you’d beat off to Sailor Moon.”

Death Note was about a high school student who has a secret notebook that gives him the power to kill anyone just by knowing their name and face. Fuck, this was pure solid, the most righteous of any manga or anime in the world.

Wes flipped through it. “I’m going to borrow it.”

“Wait!” Rashiv said, eyes wide.

“I’m just going to read it.”

“No, you’re not! You’re never going to give it back. My parents brought it to me from Japan!” Rashiv reached forward and gripped Wes’s arm. “No! Please!”

Wes turned to him with a look that even sent some ice down Donnie’s back. “Get your hand off me. Or you know what?” He nodded toward Donnie. “We’ll totally fuck you up.”

The boy dropped his hand and stared in pure misery as Donnie and Wes walked leisurely away sipping their coffee.

And with that—totally fuck you up—Donnie knew that, at last, Wes was one of them.

Chapter 60

Dance’s Pathfinder careened along the hilly stretch of Highway 68.

Not a good vehicle to be executing these maneuvers on.

And not a good driver to be attempting them. Kathryn Dance had her talents but motoring wasn’t one of them.

“Where are you, Michael?”

“Twenty minutes. There’s a cruiser there now. CHP happened to be nearby.”

“I’ll be there in three.”

Whoa, a faint skid and a blare of horn. You’re allowed to honk angrily at a large Nissan SUV straying over the centerline toward you, even if there is a flashing blue light on the dashboard.

She tossed the phone on the seat next to her. Get serious here.

Bounding into the lower lot at the inn, the Pathfinder sped up to the Highway Patrol trooper, dressed crisp, as they always looked, standing next to the Pacific Grove cop, whom she knew.