They jumped in and drove back to Clarence Street and parked by the hedge. The loot was where they’d left it. Smoke emptied his pockets and shut everything he had stolen inside the trunk. Not a single car passed. Nothing stirred. Bubba’s dog barked the way it always did.

Smoke started laughing hysterically as he drove off. Weed had no idea where they were going. He had never broken the law in his life except for the time he drew a disrespectful picture of a teacher he didn’t like and was sent to in-school suspension for two days.

“I just held the bag, so I didn’t really steal anything, did I, Smoke?” Weed asked. “I mean, I’m not keeping any of it, either. It’s all yours, right?”

Smoke laughed harder.

“Where we going?” Weed dared to ask.

Smoke started digging through CDs.

“Can I go home now?” Weed asked.

“Sure,” Smoke said.

He started rapping to Master P.

“It don’t look like we’re going the right way.” Weed raised his voice.

Smoke told him to shut up. Somehow they ended up on West Cary Street, which was nowhere near Weed’s neighborhood. Smoke stopped the car in the middle of the road.

“Get out,” he said.

“What for?” Weed protested. “I can’t get out here!”

“You’re walking for a while. To make sure you’re wide awake when we pick you up later.”

Weed didn’t know a thing about later. He didn’t dare ask. Smoke’s meanness was coiling and about to strike.

“Get out, retard,” Smoke warned.

“I don’t know where I am.”

“Keep walking that way and you’ll get to your street in a couple miles.”

Weed didn’t move as he stared wide-eyed into the night, his head pounding. Smoke was checking his mirrors.

“Meet you two blocks from your house at three A.M. At Schaaf and Broadmoor,” Smoke said.

Weed didn’t understand. His stomach was pushing everything the wrong way again.

“Bring your paints, retard. Whatever will work on a life-size metal statue in a graveyard.”

Weed opened his door and spat up bile on the pavement. He got out and almost fell again.

“Remember what happened last time when you were late,” Smoke reminded him. “And anybody finds out what you’re doing, I’m going to hurt you real bad.”

Weed stumbled to the side of the road and grabbed a speed-limit sign to steady himself. He watched Smoke’s taillights vanish down the dark road. Weed sat down hard and begged God to help him. He got up and couldn’t remember which way to go or where he was. He ducked behind walls and trees whenever headlights appeared, sometimes lying flat on his face and playing dead.

Niles was playing dead, too. He had given up trying to hint that he had been sitting right on top of his owner’s desk the instant the fish appeared on the computer screen, which had been at exactly 12:47 this afternoon.

Niles had done nothing to cause this unusual event, and frankly had assumed his owner had loaded a new screen saver for Niles’s benefit, since he was very fond of fish and his owner was always looking for ways to please him and occupy his attention so he’d stay out of trouble.