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  Kennin scowled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she’s got enough credits to graduate from Dorado by Christmas,” Tito explained. “Then she moves to California, establishes residence, and pays in-state tuition next year. There’s only one thing that can stop her, dude, and that’s you.”

  Tito paused and gave Kennin a meaningful look. “She’s still hung up on you. She won’t admit it, but I can see it in her eyes. You gotta do the right thing, man. You gotta let her go, okay?”

  Kennin didn’t answer. It still rankled him that Tito didn’t think he was good enough for Angelita. But Tito was right about one thing: Angelita had worked really hard to get good grades and save money so she could go to college in California. And Kennin didn’t want to stand in the way.

  Tito pressed on. “It’s no big deal, right? You can get any babe you want. I saw what was going down with Mariel when we got here. She’s the hottest chick around, and all you gotta do is snap your fingers.”

  Kennin nodded slowly. Maybe … Maybe not.

  Leon came in and took the joystick away. “Fun’s over, dawg. No more of this for you.”

  “How come?” Kennin asked.

  “They don’t want you to get used to it,” Leon said as he removed the IV from the back of Kennin’s hand. “This is a hospital, not an introduction to Junkie 101. Believe me, I’ve been there. I know.”

  “You were a junkie?” Kennin asked.

  “Let’s just say that for a time I followed the path of the unenlightened,” Leon said, and unhooked the small clear plastic bag from the IV stand.

  “How’d you get off it?” Kennin asked, thinking of Shinchou.

  “Sista Bertha. She runs a rehab clinic over on the south side. Place looks like a dump, but believe me, she knows what she’s doing.”

  “What’s it cost?” Kennin asked.

  “It don’t cost nothin’, dawg,” Leon said. “Sista’s doin’ God’s work. She gives you one shot at redemption, understand? The second time you fall from grace, you fall alone.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Kennin said.

  “So, how come you never told me you were some kind of outlaw celebrity race car driver?” Leon asked.

  “You sure you got the right guy?” Kennin asked.

  “You didn’t bust up that leg playin’ soccer, right?” Leon said, then leaned close and lowered his voice. “There’s a cop outside waitin’ to talk to you. Want me to tell him you’re not up to it?”

  Kennin thought it over. “Thanks, but I can deal.”

  Leon went to the door and stuck his head out into the hall. A moment later Detective Sam Neilson of the Las Vegas Police came in. Neilson had blond hair and was wearing a tan sports jacket and dark slacks. He’d lost weight since the last time Kennin had seen him.

  “How’s the leg?” Neilson asked.

  “Getting better,” Kennin replied. “I like the look.”

  Neilson smiled, as if pleased that someone had noticed. “Yeah, I dropped twenty pounds and got some new threads.” He touched his upper lip. “You like it better without the mustache?”

  Kennin tried to remember what the detective looked like with the mustache. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Okay.” Neilson grinned, as if he was pleased he’d made the right decision. Then, like everyone else who visited, he asked how much longer Kennin would be in the hospital. Kennin told him a week.

  “Then what?” the detective asked.

  “Sorry?” Kennin didn’t follow.

  “No more street racing,” Neilson said.

  Kennin remained silent.

  “It’s bad enough that we gotta deal with DWls and all that crap without a bunch of kids whipping sideways around corners at a hundred miles an hour,” Neilson said.

  “Not quite that fast,” Kennin said.

  “Whatever. You know how many violations we could’ve hit you with?” Neilson asked. “Driving without a license, reckless endangerment, speeding … believe me, it was quite a list.”

  “How come you didn’t?” Kennin asked.

  Neilson drummed his fingers against the bed’s chrome rail. “Turns out you’ve got friends in high places.”

  Kennin frowned.

  “Come on, Kennin,” Neilson said. “Think about it. Can’t be like you’ve got that many friends in that many high places, can it?”

  Mercado, Kennin realized. The owner of the Babylon Casino. But why?

  “You’ve been the subject of several conversations down at headquarters,” Neilson went on. “There was even some talk about handing you over to social services.”

  “You can’t do that,” Kennin said. “My sister’s my legal guardian.”

  “Where’ve you been, kid? Your sister’s a stripper on crystal meth. She’s no help to you or herself.”

  Kennin winced. So there it was—confirmation of his worst fears. Anger welled up inside him. He knew his sister well enough to know she hadn’t gotten there alone. She’d had help.

  Neilson slid his hand along the chrome rail. “And there’s still the matter of the stolen GTO. Mark my words, Kennin, sooner or later that one’s gonna come back to haunt you.”

  “Seriously, Detective Neilson?” Kennin said. “I’ve never stolen a car in my life.”

  “Oh yeah?” Neilson said. “Swear on your mother’s grave that you had absolutely nothing to do with that car.”

  Kennin turned and gazed out the window at the purplish gray mountains in the distance. Neilson nodded, as if he’d expected just such a response. “This is my last warning, Kennin. When you get out of this bed, stay out of cars and off the street. ’Cause next time no one’s gonna be able to save you.”

  3

  he could leave the hospital, but the rules stated that Kennin couldn’t just limp out on crutches. Someone had to come get him. He spoke to Shinchou on the phone, and she said she’d pick him up at noon.

  Noon came and went and Shinchou didn’t show.

  The afternoon dragged on. Kennin tried to call a few more times, but she didn’t answer.

  At six p.m. Leon stuck his head into the room. “Ride didn’t come?”

  Kennin didn’t reply. The answer was obvious.

  Leon let out a low sigh. “Give me ten, dawg. I’ll be back.”

  Fifteen minutes later Leon returned wearing his street clothes—jeans and a gray UNLV sweatshirt—and pushing a wheelchair. “You ready?” he asked, then grinned. “Just kidding. I know you been ready since noon.”

  Leon helped him into the wheelchair. Out in the corridor they went through a puke green door marked HOSPITAL PERSONNEL ONLY, and then through another door. A pair of metal crutches was leaning against the wall. Leon looked around to make sure no one was watching, then picked up the crutches and put them in Kennin’s lap. “Here’s a goingaway present.”

  Kennin held the crutches in his lap, and Leon pushed the wheelchair through another door to the outside and past a sign that said EMPLOYEE PARKING LOT. For the first time in nearly two weeks, Kennin breathed fresh air. It was midNovember and, at six thirty in the evening, already dark. Kennin felt a chill and shivered.

  “Yeah, it’s gotten a little cooler these last few weeks,” said Leon. “Down into the low fifties at night.” He stopped the wheelchair next to a bright red Chevy Silverado with big chrome rims and tinted windows.

  “Nice ride,” Kennin said.

  “The poor man’s Escalade,” Leon quipped, opening the passenger-side door for Kennin and helping him in. Kennin’s blue fiberglass cast went from his hip to his ankle, and moving around wasn’t easy. Once he was comfortable, Leon got into the driver’s seat. “Where to, Captain?”

  “North Las Vegas,” Kennin said. “Trailer park called the Sierra Ne-Vue.”

  “Oh yeah,” Leon said as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “The high-rent district.” This too was a joke. If Las Vegas had a slum, the Sierra Ne-Vue was probably it.

  Twenty minutes later they passed the dead brown palm trees at the entrance to the trailer park.

  “That one,” Kennin said, pointing at the trailer with a bright yellow ’vette parked outside it.

  “Whoa, nice ride,” Leon said when he saw the ’vette. “That yours?”

  “No,” Kennin replied.

  “Sorry to hear it,” Leon said.

  Not as sorry as I am to see that car, Kennin thought.

  They pulled up next to the ’vette. Leon was helping Kennin out when the door to the trailer opened and Jack the jackass and Shinchou came out. As usual, Jack was wearing a black cowboy hat, a black shirt, and lots of gold jewelry. Even though it was getting dark, Shinchou was wearing a pair of sunglasses. But Kennin could see that the left side of her face was swollen and bruised.

  “What happened?” Kennin asked, leaning on the crutches.

  Shinchou’s hand immediately went to her face. “Nothing. I banged myself.”

  Kennin didn’t believe her. “I meant at the hospital. You were supposed to pick me up.”

  “Oh, sorry.” His sister hung her head. “I forgot.”

  “How’s the leg?” Jack asked.

  “What do you care?” Kennin asked back.

  Jack’s face hardened. “You ought to show more respect, pardner.”

  “I show respect to people who deserve it,” Kennin replied.

  Jack slid his hand through Shinchou’s arm and led her toward the ’vette. Kennin’s sister was unsteady on her feet and almost stumbled.

  “So what did happen to your face?” Kennin asked.

  “I told you, I bumped it,” she said.

  “How?”

  “Butt out,” Jack growled as he opened the ’vette’s door for Shinchou.

  Kennin ignored him. “Where’re you going?” he asked his sister.

  “To w
ork,” Shinchou said.

  “With your eye like that?”

  “I said, butt out,” Jack snarled, placing his hand on Shinchou’s shoulder and guiding her into the ’vette’s passenger seat. Then he came around to the driver’s side, where Kennin and Leon were. Jack started to open the door, but Kennin lifted a crutch and blocked him.

  Jack glared at Kennin. “Move it.”

  Kennin kept the crutch where it was. “I don’t like what you’re doing to my sister.”

  “She can take care of herself,” Jack said.

  “How many other girls have you said that about?” Kennin asked. “And how did they wind up?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said.

  “How about the blonde with the hot pink streaks?” Kennin asked.

  Jack glanced into the ‘vette. Shinchou had leaned her head back against the car seat, her eyes closed as if she was asleep. Seeing that she wasn’t paying attention, Jack wheeled around and swung his arm, knocking the crutch out of his way. Kennin instantly lifted the other crutch and held it like a baseball bat, ready to smack Jack’s head—complete with cowboy hat—into the upper deck if the guy made a move.

  “Whoa!” Leon jumped in between them. “Chill out. Back off.”

  Jack pointed a finger at Kennin. “You better learn to stay out of other people’s business, boy. Ain’t you figured that out by now? Ain’t you already been hurt bad enough? You don’t want to get in another accident, boy. So stay out of my business.”

  The words struck Kennin as hard as a closed fist. “What are you saying? That what happened wasn’t an accident?”

  “I’m just sayin’, you don’t want to get hurt again, stay out of people’s business and do what you’re told.” Jack got into the ‘vette and screeched out of the trailer park, leaving a cloud of tire smoke and exhaust.

  “Friend of the family?” Leon asked, picking up the crutch Jack had batted away.

  “My sister’s boyfriend,” Kennin replied.

  “Looked old enough to be her father.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Kennin.

  “A badass?”

  “He’d like you to think so.”

  “Let me help you get inside,” Leon said.

  “Thanks,” said Kennin.

  Leon got the door, and Kennin climbed up the loose concrete cinder blocks and went inside. The trailer was filthy. Not just messy, but dirty. It may not have been much of a home, but he and Shinchou had always tried to keep it neat and clean. Now there was garbage scattered around and the place reeked of cigarettes and decaying refuse. Empty food containers, glasses with cigarette butts floating in them, plates with the crusted remains of dinners still sticking to them, empty cans and bottles.

  Leon looked around. “Aw, crap,” he muttered, “and I thought I was gonna get home on time tonight.”

  “You still can,” Kennin said.

  “Right. You gonna clean up this mess all by yourself.” Leon rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “Good thing this place is so small. We should be able to get it fixed up pretty fast.”

  Normally, Kennin would have refused the offer. He could clean up his own messes, and his sister’s. But it would be a difficult job with the cast on.

  “Got any garbage bags?” Leon asked.

  “Under the sink,” Kennin said.

  Leon was right. With the two of them working, the cleanup went pretty fast. Kennin stationed himself at the kitchen sink and washed dishes, while Leon did most of the picking up. Before long the trailer almost looked inhabitable again.

  “There you go, dawg,” Leon said, tying off a big black garbage bag. “Least you can sleep here tonight.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Kennin said.

  “Hey, no problem,” Leon said. “I know you’d do the same for me. There’s just one thing.” He placed a small glassine envelope and a bloodstained cotton ball on the kitchen counter. “I don’t have to tell you what this means, right?”

  Kennin felt a deep ache inside. Here was the undeniable proof that Shinchou was doing serious drugs. Just as Neilson had said.

  “Sorry to give you the bad news,” Leon said. “But I thought you’d want to know.”

  Kennin nodded slowly, feeling the weight of this new problem press down onto his shoulders.

  Leon pulled out a pen and wrote something down. “Here’s my phone number and Sista Bertha’s address. You want me to help, just let me know.”

  “Thanks.” Kennin took the slip of paper.

  “You’re wondering what’s in this for me, right?” Leon asked with a smile.

  Kennin nodded.

  “I was once your age and on my own too,” Leon said. “So I know how messed up that can be. If it wasn’t for a couple of folks who took pity and helped me out, I wouldn’t be here today. So I’m just tryin’ to do the same for you.”

  “I appreciate it,” Kennin said. “I really do. And thanks again for helping me clean up.”

  “No prob.” Leon picked up the garbage bag. “I’ll just take this with me. Good luck, dawg.”

  Leon left. Kennin stared down at the glassine envelope and the bloody cotton ball. Jack had an ironclad grip on his sister now. As if the five-grand loan and weekly vig wasn’t enough, now the bastard had her on crystal meth. Kennin could feel the anger rising in him again. And what about the crash? Jack made it sound like it wasn’t an accident. Normally, Kennin thought Jack was full of crap, but not this time. The night of the drift battle Jack had told him to tank the second heat. When Kennin won it instead, the guy was furious and warned him not to even think about winning the last heat. But Jack had no reason to think Kennin would listen. So he could have done something to make sure Kennin wouldn’t win. Especially if there was serious money on the line.

  4

  at Dorado High the next day, Kennin leaned on his crutches and watched Tito in the crowd of guys moving to their next classes. Tito’s head was turned toward Mutt, and he was talking excitedly. “The tsuiso thing is over, dude. After what happened to Kennin the cops are doing a full-court press. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because the Babylon’s opening a drift track. The future’s gonna be tandem drifting. Two guys on a course, running full-on side by side, showing the judges what they can do.”

  Mutt winced slightly. “I don’t know about side by side. Sounds like a recipe for some serious bang-ups.”

  “Sure, if amateurs drive,” Tito said. “But we’re talking professionals. Guys who really know how to drift. That’s the whole idea of a team. It’s why the Babylon’s building a track. Dude, just imagine it. Unlimited seat time. Hours and hours to practice drifting without the cops and crowds and kooks.”

  “Sounds great,” Kennin said.

  Tito looked up with a shocked expression. “Wha’?”

  “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Kennin said.

  “I—I—,” Tito stammered. “I just didn’t expect to see you. When’d you get out?”

  “Yesterday,” Kennin said.

  “How’s the leg?” Mutt asked.

  “Still attached,” said Kennin.

  “That’s no joke, dude,” Mutt said. “I mean, if you’d seen the wreck. Everyone thought you were toast.”

  “So I hear,” said Kennin.

  The bell rang, and the bodies in the hallway picked up speed toward their next classes.

  “Gotta book,” Tito said a little too quickly. Something shimmered in the guy’s earlobe. Kennin realized it was a diamond stud.

  “Wait,” Kennin said.

  Tito stopped and bit his lip. “What?”

  “See you at lunch?” Kennin asked.

  “Uh, yeah, sure, you bet,” Tito said, and hurried away.

  “He’s in school,” Angelita’s friend Marta whispered in AP Spanish Lit.

  Angelita didn’t have to ask which “he” she was referring to.

  “I saw him in the hall,” Marta whispered.

  Angelita shrugged.

  “Don’t give me that act,” Marta scoffed. “You know you want to see him.”

  “Shut up,” Angelita hissed.

  In the front of the room their teacher frowned at them. After all, this was AP Spanish Lit, the most advanced foreign language course at Dorado High, and misbehavior was almost unheard of. Angelita went back to her reading of La Casa de Bernarda Alba, a play that explored themes of repression, passion, and conformity while examining the effects of men on women.