For the moment, Hazard put a pin in the thought, not ready to dismiss it, but not ready to move any further without talking to Somers.

The next rational step, in Hazard’s mind, was finding Nico.

An elementary school ahead provided a long stretch of sidewalk, and as Hazard moved up onto the cement, he took out his phone and made his first call. The call went to Nico’s voicemail, and Hazard said, “Call me back right fucking now.” He didn’t wait for the return call, though; he placed a second call, and when it went to voicemail, he said, “This is Emery Hazard. Call me back in the next five minutes.”

He started the stopwatch on his phone and kept walking. School was out for the summer, but a handful of kids were out on the playground. One girl was hanging upside down from the monkey bars, swinging back and forth by her boney knees and then slowly coming to a halt. The other kids screamed with excitement; Hazard thought they’d really get a kick out of knowing some of the math behind parabolas and air resistance.

When his phone rang, the stopwatch said 4:47.

“Cutting it close, Marcus,” Hazard said.

“What do you want? Did you find Nico?”

Marcus was—had been?—Nico’s boyfriend. Hazard wasn’t entirely clear on the timeline or status of their relationship, partially because it was complicated, mostly because he couldn’t bother to give a single fuck. What Hazard needed to know about their relationship, he already knew: Nico had never liked Marcus as much as Marcus liked him; Marcus had been insanely jealous of Nico’s other relationships; and Marcus had called Hazard to report Nico missing.

“I want to see his apartment,” Hazard said.

“Uh, no.”

“Then good luck finding him yourself.”

“No, no, no. Wait. Why do you need to be inside his apartment? That’s weird. Can’t you just make sure he’s ok?”

“Why did you call me Marcus?”

“You told me to call you back.”

Hazard held in a sigh. “Why did you call me the first time?”

“Because Nico didn’t pick me up. I was supposed to go with him to help Gray move.”

“So what? Nico misses a lot of appointments. He gets busy shaving his legs.”

“God, you are such an asshole.”

Hazard wiped sweat from his forehead, trying to make out the sign on the next cross street through the sun’s glare.

“Now I know why he broke up with you.”

Squinting, Hazard made a bet with himself. Wyatt. It was Wyatt Street. But when he got close enough to read the sign, it was Parcell. Hazard hadn’t walked this part of town in a long time, and the blocks were farther apart than he remembered. In the next yard, the splash of the hose accompanied children’s excited screams. That sounded pretty good to him too: stick his head under the hose for about ten minutes.

“I mean,” Marcus was still saying, “I always knew you were an asshole, but—”