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When they were children, Sean Devine, Jimmy Marcus, and Dave Boyle were friends. But then a strange car pulled up to their street. One boy got into the car, two did not, and something terrible happened—something that ended their friendship and changed all three boys forever.
Now, years later, murder has tied their lives together again . . .
died when Dave climbed in that car and Jimmy had stayed planted on the street. Jimmy, as it turned out, wouldn’t be in school with Dave much longer, so even those walks together could eventually be avoided. At school, Jimmy had always hung out with Val Savage, a small, chimp-brained psycho who’d been kept back twice and could turn into this spinning, whirling dust storm of violence that scared the shit out of just about everyone, teachers and students alike. The joke about Val (though never
Annabeth tossed him a look that said his ass was slung when they got back home. Then she looked straight ahead, her lips tight, but jerking a bit at the corners. Jimmy knew all he’d have to say was “Problem?” in that innocent-boy voice of his and Annabeth would start cracking up in spite of herself, because something about a church just gave you a need to giggle, and that had always been one of Jimmy’s big gifts: he could make the ladies laugh, no matter what. He didn’t look at Annabeth for a
in the song that always got to Jimmy for some reason he didn’t understand—“Well, good-bye, boys/Oh my buddy boys/Oh my sad-eyed Sinatras…” He lip-synced them to Annabeth as they swayed, feeling loose and at ease for the first time in years, lip-synced again at the chorus along with Rickie’s mournful wisp of a voice, “So long, lone-ly ave-nue,” smiling into Annabeth’s crystal green eyes, and she’d smiled, too, in a soft, hidden way she had that cracked his heart, the two of them acting like this
thick fingers. “God gained an angel that day, and I lost a saint. But my kids were all grown by then, thank Christ. I mean, I could afford to grieve for six months. I had that luxury. But you, though, you don’t.” Theo leaned back in his chair and Jimmy felt that bubbling sensation again. Janey Savage had died ten years ago, and Theo had climbed into a bottle for a lot more than six months. More like two years. It was the same bottle he’d been renting for most of his life, he just took out a
like he’s going to blow the country, try living in Uruguay.” “Doesn’t mean he’s not a flight risk.” “Sarge,” Sean said, “we got nothing to charge him with.” Whitey took a step back, looked at Sean in the glow of the street lamp above them. “You going native on me, Supercop?” “I just don’t see him for this, man. Lack of motive, for one.” “His alibi’s shit, Devine. His stories are so full of holes, they were a boat, they’d be sitting on the ocean floor. You said the wife was scared. Not