He was about to hit his phone again but then: “And Spencer? Cal and I check all these numbers. Cal especially. You probably don’t need telling that you made an enemy of him. That doesn’t take much, but you took it to the Super Bowl. I know you got . . . shall we call them personal expenses? Keep them and what we pay you separate from the cash you’re dealing with. We pay generously, but you fuck with us, well, Cal, he’s the type of guy who takes it personal. You get me?”

He went back to his phone.

In the cyberworld, folks can be whatever they want. A forty-year-old guy can be a schoolgirl in the sixth grade looking for playmates. A 250-pound menopausal preacher’s wife in South Dakota can be a lonely model in Louisiana looking for love. As Spencer drove them back to the depot, following a roundabout route of course, Johnny Boy was a hot little nineteen-year-old Black girl working as a retail assistant in Midtown. Over the last month, she’d made friends with a bunch of guys who bounced around Nately Place and a bunch of girls who hung with the guys around Clark Park and the Vernor Highway. And boy did those girls like to talk about the hot guys. And boy did those Vernor guys not like it when they got a little taste of how chicks really talked about men. Why, they could get downright jealous and insecure. Especially when they got blown out on a date by some hot chick who seemed peachy keen until she’d met a guy called Scoop who said all the guys around Vernor were little-dicked faggots, especially so-and-so and so-and-so. And hell, no one likes to be called a faggot in the hood. It was the kind of thing that would fracture a blossoming little alliance and make things flare up hotter than hell’s waiting room. Making war could be a part-time job and it could be darned fun too.

“Where are you guys headed?”

Abby and Chris looked around to see Spencer standing by the car with two bags of groceries and looking mightily pleased about it.

Chris hesitated. “You’re back earlier than you said. I was just running Abby over to Amy’s.”

“Chris, I got this. You’ve been like the school bus driver. I’ve got a car again.”

“Hey, no, we’re ready to go. And you got the groceries there.”

“Can we just go, Chris, Amy’s messaging?” said Abby suddenly.

Spencer looked over and saw she wasn’t holding her phone. Chris noticed too. There was a moment’s silence.

“What’s up, guys?” said Spencer.

“Nothing’s up,” said Abby, a little flustered. “I just want Chris to take me today. He’s been working and, and he might get that thing that kills people who don’t move their legs enough.”