“Keep it. You earned it.” He got back in Johnny Boy’s car.

The Yo-Yo, cigarette in mouth and face cast in stone, returned with the jerrican. He walked right up to Spencer.

“Hands.”

Spencer looked at him, confused.

“Hold out your hands.”

Spencer did so. The Yo-Yo raised the jerrican and sprinkled the dregs on Spencer’s hands. He dropped the can on the floor. Then he leaned down and in, bringing his face up close to Spencer’s. He sniffed his breath. Spencer felt like Jack hiding from the giant, sniffing out the blood of an Englishman.

The Yo-Yo straightened. He took Spencer’s hands, now covered in gasoline, and lifted them up, dangerously close to the lighted cigarette.

“It sure would be a shame, Spencer, if we were all here, those little fucks back there included, just ’cause you needed a drink.”

He let Spencer’s hands drop, picked up the jerrican, and walked off.

Moments later they were back in Johnny Boy’s car, this time with Johnny Boy at the wheel, ready to vacate.

Johnny Boy switched on the radio and flicked it to station-surf mode. Suddenly Taylor Swift was telling them how she knew they were trouble. The car’s lush audio system made the glossy vocals more rocking than poppy, a tribute to German sound engineering.

“What are we on here?”

Johnny Boy glanced at the screen. “WDVD.”

“Ah yeah, WDVD,” said McGrath. “It was better before they fired Allyson.”

As they drove back into the alley, the Infiniti’s fuel tank exploded.

19

19

New Beginnings

Spencer tiptoed down the hall. There was a cool bottle of Stoli in the freezer with his name on it. Then maybe the TV would tell him about an earthquake or a plane crash somewhere: something terrible enough to put what he’d seen that night into a more manageable perspective.

He opened the refrigerator.

“Late to be drinking on a school night, Spence?” said a voice in the darkness.

Spencer’s nerves were already raggedy. He half spun, half fell into the refrigerator door, causing the contents of its shelves to rattle and clink.

“Why’re you sitting here in the dark scaring folk, Chris?”

Spencer threw a vodka and coke together and took a glug.

“Because I fell asleep in here.”

He was sitting up in the middle of the couch, looking disheveled in his creased khaki shorts and white T-shirt. His thinning gray hair stuck up in tufts.

“I was here because of these.”

There were papers on the floor all around him. Spencer walked into the living room and picked one up. He turned on Chris’s desk light.

“A bunch of these guys are filing suits, Spencer. And some of them have been calling my customer support line.”