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Chapters (57)
  1. Welcome to the Game
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraphs
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. Six months later . . .
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. Back Cover

Not long after Spencer left and McGrath was dusting tiny remnants of coke from the shelf in the restroom, an unmemorable truck pulled up at the depot barrier.

Cal signed the digital signing box offered four times. One for each tire. How fucking stupid was that? About as stupid as those dreadlocks that delivery driver was sporting.

Cal’s reluctance to forgive a slight was, it seemed, even greater than his reluctance to sign anything.

40

40

The Shadow of War

Spencer headed east in the Buick. He laid the hammer down. There was a lot to get through. Clouds rolled in from the eastern lakes. Headlights went on, spooked by the bloated, dark gray sky. He didn’t know that Eddie tried, and failed, to keep up with him.

He came off the ninety-four on Van Dyke, stopped at a Home Depot to buy two thick planks of timber, and then headed north for the industrial area he’d discovered the day he’d been mugged. By the time he drove up the dusty road to the derelict factory, the weather had finally broken.

Chris was waiting for him in the factory entranceway. He looked tired and sallow.

Spencer had to yell over the sound of the rain. “Sure you’re up to this?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Spence. We all managed to function somehow before you joined us back in the real world.”

Thunder and lightning were the backdrop as they scoped out the building’s dank bowels.

They left in Chris’s car, seeing as the Buick was now in its own special place. Chris dropped Spencer on Noble and headed home via the Glory Supermarket on Woodward where he would buy whatever steak they had. But he would say he’d traveled far and wide to find the best cuts in town.

By the time Spencer was parked up on West Lincoln watching the Oakland CPS, the sun was shining again. The door swung open and this time Caitlyn Dunn emerged. She walked smartly across the lot through tendrils of rising steam, talking on her phone as she went. She wore a dark blue knee-length dress, not too tight but not so loose either. She disappeared from sight and Spencer heard a car door shut, followed by an engine starting.

Moments later, a blue Mini pulled out of the lot and headed west. Spencer followed at a distance.

Caitlyn Dunn hadn’t halted the CPS petition to court just because the Burnhams fled town. Why would she? There had been something very dangerous about Spencer Burnham. And why would the court not grant a petition if the parent whose worth it called into question didn’t even turn up to the hearing. A letter giving CPS custody of his daughter had been amid the pile of mail and fast-food offers they’d come back to from Toledo.