Smoke ordered Sick, Beeper, Dog and Divinity to keep an eye on Weed and make sure he didn’t try taking a detour that might screw up their plans for the night.

So the Pikes set out in Dog’s ’69 Pontiac Lemans, cruising dark stretches of West Cary looking unsuccessfully for any sign of the drunk little motherfucker.

“I’m thirsty,” Divinity said.

“Fucking yeah,” said Beeper.

“Come on, Dog. Let’s see you do your trick,” Divinity said.

Dog didn’t like being thought of as a dog that did tricks. He never said anything, though. He pretty much just went along and did what he was told.

“What flavor you want this time?” Dog asked.

“Lemme see,” Divinity considered. “How about something ice, baby? Maybe Michelob Ice? I’m fucking sick of Bud and all that other shit you’re always getting that tastes like piss. ’Sides, baby, ice got more spin in it. You know, makes your head go round and around.”

She thought she was very funny and just loved laughing with herself. Dog pulled into a 7-Eleven and used his fake ID to buy a second six-pack of Michelob Ice while Beeper and Sick caused a diversion by Beeper’s pretending to slip on the floor and Sick’s having to help him up as Divinity browsed shelves and tucked whatever she wanted inside her denim bag.

“I think we find him we have some fun,” Dog said as he peeled out of the parking lot and started thinking about Weed again. “I don’t like him.”

“That’s ’cause he paints, baby, and you can’t do a fucking thing,” Divinity said.

Dog felt himself get meaner. “He needs to learn about life,” Dog said. “ ’Bout showing respect.”

“You go about making him show respect and Smoke’s gonna tear your ass off and feed it to a pit bull,” Divinity said as she sipped her beer.

“Fuck Smoke.” Dog turned back onto West Cary Street. “I’m not fucking afraid of him.”

It wasn’t true. Dog hadn’t been Dog until last Christmas when he’d just turned fifteen and was shopping around for a little crack and ran into Divinity and Smoke at the mall on Chimborazo Boulevard. Smoke sold Dog a couple rocks and then pulled a pistol and stole the rocks back and kept Dog’s money.

“Hey, gimme my money if you ain’t giving me the rocks,” Dog told him.

“Not unless you earn it,” Smoke said.

Smoke talked Dog into robbing some woman at gunpoint downtown near the Monroe Building. Dog turned over forty-seven dollars to Smoke. Dog would never forget what Smoke said to him next.

“Now you’re mine. I own you.” He pointed his Glock between Dog’s eyes. “You’re my slave. Know why?”

Dog said he didn’t.

“Because you ain’t got shit in life. You go home to shit. You’ve got shit for brains. You’re so fucking shitting stupid you came out here buying crack and robbed some poor old lady, probably gave her a heart attack. That could be murder if she dies. I might just have to tell the po-lice.”