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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

His minions pulled out trash bags. One headed for the liquor aisle. The other went over the counter and started loading up on smokes. As he went, he smacked Milt’s forehead with the heel of his palm. Seeing a kid do that to a guy of Milt’s age jarred Spencer.

“Cash register, you old faggot!” said Pistol Pete.

Milt hesitated. “I need a sale to open it, man, I can’t j—” he stopped when he felt a knife at his throat. The kid who’d been boosting the smokes now had his arm around Milt’s neck. The only reason he could reach was because he was standing on the back counter. A frigging twelve-year-old dressed in a black tracksuit and huge Nike Airs.

Suddenly the gun was back on Spencer’s face. “How about when I check this guy out? Yeah? That be a sale?”

“I got it,” said Milt. He grabbed an air freshener and scanned it. The register bell rang and the cash tray slid open.

The kid with the knife turned back for the last of the smokes. Pistol Pete glanced out the window.

“They your wheels, faggot?” he asked Spencer.

“Yeah but—”

He was cut off by Pistol Pete racking the slide, chambering a round. “Fuck you. You’re gonna look good with no—”

A split second before he fired, his gun hand was smacked with a baseball bat. The gun still went off though. Spencer felt a hot rush of air pass by his cheek. He fell back against the shelves and slithered to the floor on a rolling mass of canned corn and hot dogs. As he fought to stand, he saw Milt leaning right over the counter with a baseball bat.

The gun now lay equidistant from its owner and Spencer. They looked at each other, then at the gun. Both dived for it. Spencer tried to lock arms around the guy. As they fought, the gun disappeared under an ocean of Twinkies and Oreos.

17

17

Thankless Favors

It seemed to Spencer that the guy he was grappling with had fueled up on high-grade octane, maybe even nitro. Spencer was outclassed. He took an elbow to the nose, hard. Blood splashed up his face and in one eye. The guy broke free. Spencer knew he’d lost, knew it was time to run for his life.

He ducked around the corner of the shelf unit and then sprinted down the aisle to the back of the shop, yelling as he went.

“Run, Milt, run!”

Bang! and the glass door of a cooler dissolved in front of him. He skidded on the cascading glass, shoulder charged into the disabled john, slid on the wet floor, and smashed his shin on the edge of the toilet. He threw the lever lock just before the door shuddered in its frame. He guessed that was the liquor kid.