I polished off my first slice and started on the second, slower now, to make it last.
Ronan, already done, balled up his napkin and tossed it down. He reclined in his chair, his gray eyes—eyes like a shark, back in the day—studying me. I noticed the wedding band on his left hand—black with a vein of gold down the middle.
“Congratulations,” I said, taking a bite of pizza. “Shiloh made that, right?”
Ronan nodded. “Of course.”
“She’s good.”
“She’s the best,” Ronan said, and I knew he wasn’t talking about rings.
“Listen, man—”
He cut in. “Drugs?”
“Huh?”
“It’s noon, and you were sleeping. Are you high?”
“Do I look like I can afford dope?” I asked, indicating my stinking worn-out jeans, shirt, and Dad’s old windbreaker, so faded now it wasgray instead of blue.
Ronan shrugged. “You panhandle for money, use the money for drugs. Or?”
“Do other things to score?” I shook my head. “I stay away from that shit.”
I rolled up my sleeves to show him my arms, skinny and white but free and clear of tracks. I didn’t know what the hell I was trying to prove to Wentz anyway. Or why.
“The meds for my headaches make me tired. That okay with you?”
Ronan considered this. “No drugs?”
“No drugs.”
He nodded and jerked his chin at my food. “You done?”
“Almost.”
I took my time finishing my pizza, my stomach feeling stretched from food and sloshy with soda.
When I was done, Ronan threw our empty plates in the trash and gestured to my bag. “Get your stuff. Let’s go.”
“Where to next?” I asked, shuffling after him. “There’s a Ben and Jerry’s up the road if you’re springing for dessert before my beatdown.”
“You’re not getting a beatdown, Dowd,” he intoned.
“Then what the fuck do you want with me?”
He stopped at the curb where a black pickup truck with the sameWentz & Moraleslogo was parked. The flatbed was filled with buckets of paint, stacks of wood, and a bunch of tools.
“You going to put me to work?” I snorted. “Make me dig my own grave?”
Ronan opened the passenger side door. “We’ll see.”
I had nothing better to do than see where the hell all this was going, so I climbed in.
“Goodbye, cruel world,” I snickered, waving at the streets I called home.
Ronan drove us to an apartment complex. The sign in front of the newly paved parking lot readCliffside. My stomach clenched. Thecomplex had had a makeover since I’d seen it last—it looked new and pretty decent, but I recognized the place where Dad had driven Mikey and me to whale on Wentz for spray-painting Mikey’s car.