“Where was that place,” Leo wanted to know, “where we got pizza the other night?”

Sometimes it bugged Gary that, even though the Kickstart served food—some burgers, wings, fries, basic stuff—Leo always wanted to get something to eat from someplace else. The novelty of it, he guessed. The kid could eat, but he never got fat. Just stayed tall and stringy.

“Rocco’s,” Gary said.

“Yeah, it was good,” Leo said.

Miranda listened to all this as she counted up the night’s receipts. The Kickstart had closed half an hour ago, everyone had gone home, including the girls. Now it was just her, Gary and Leo, and Payne and Eldridge and Zane. Those three—sometimes Miranda thought of them as the Three Musketurds—were getting into the booze again. A good night would do that to them, prompt them to raid the bar’s fridge for free beers. And Payne had some coke, and was willing to share.

“We’re going out,” Gary said. “Get some fucking pizza. Anybody want some?”

The others said sure, yeah, bring back lots. Gary and Leo left. Miranda stayed at her desk, working.

She figured this would be the week. She was ready. She had enough put away. About half a mill. It seemed unbelievable, that she’d been able to skim off that much. But so much money went through that joint, and when you didn’t pay the legitimate bills, or paid just enough to keep the creditors off your back, and used the money you actually did have to pay invoices that you’d manufactured yourself, well, it all started to add up.

She’d already emptied out most of the accounts where she’d been squirreling away cash. She’d pulled together some fake identification. She’d come up with a new identity, for someone she’d decided to call Trixie.

Miranda was as ready as she’d ever be. She just had to pick her moment. To go when it felt right. Maybe just after a shift that was followed by a couple of days off. She’d have forty-eight hours’ lead time before Gary started to clue in to what was going on. By then she’d be far away, already be establishing her new life with her baby daughter. She’d change her hair color, do her makeup differently, whatever she could to distance herself from the woman known as Candace.

The guys were getting a bit rowdy. The hairs went up on the back of Miranda’s neck. Don’t let them try anything, she thought. Not now. Not when I’m so close to pulling this all off.

And then there was Payne Fletcher, standing right next to her, a beer in one hand. And touching her hair with the other.

She recoiled.

“Hey, come on,” said Payne. “I’m just being friendly.”